Isabella
Ma made sure I had a weddin’ gown, no matter what, and a big tear rolls down my cheek as she unfurls it.
“Well, it ain’t much, but it was mine, and my mother’s before me,” she says, lookin’ a little shy, like she thinks it’s not enough.
“Ma, it’s the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen!” I breathe, runnin’ my fingers over the soft lace and delicate ruffles. It’s clear the dress is old, but Ma’s made it even more beautiful.
“How did you make it longer for me, Ma?” I ask, admirin’ how perfectly it fits.
Ma smirks. “Well, I added some length at the hem and let out the seams as you kept growin’ taller than me. Had to make sure it still looked just right on you.”
“And the details on the bodice and sleeves?” I run my hand over the fine stitches, the intricate designs that weren’t
