Prom night wasn’t something I was excited about.

I just wanted to get through it.

Smile when I had to. Stay quiet. Go home.

That was the plan.

But everything changed the moment I walked down the stairs.

I was wearing a dress I had made myself.

Not from something new.

From my father’s old army uniform.

It wasn’t perfect.

It wasn’t meant to be.

But it was his.

Every piece of fabric held a memory. Every stitch felt like I was holding on to something I wasn’t ready to lose.

He had taught me how to sew when I was little.

Back when the house still felt like home.

Before everything changed.

After he died, nothing felt the same.

The house became quieter—but not in a peaceful way.

part2