Sixteen years ago, I lost my only son, Mark, in a construction accident. His young wife, Melissa, didn’t grieve long. She left her daughter Emma with me and vanished into a wealthy new life.
I raised Emma alone in Mark’s modest home. Money was tight, but I worked part-time and stretched every dollar so Emma wouldn’t feel different from other kids. She never asked for much.
But when prom came, I wanted her to feel special.
I pulled out my old sewing machine and made a pale-blue gown. When Emma tried it on, her eyes lit up. “It’s the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen,” she whispered.
That night, while she twirled before the mirror, a sharp knock echoed at the door.
I opened it—and froze.
Melissa. She looked like she’d stepped off the cover of a magazine: flawless makeup, jewelry that sparkled, a cloud of expensive perfume following her.
“Emma, darling!” she cried, sweeping inside without waiting for an invitation. Emma stood speechless—she hadn’t seen her mother since she was a toddler.
Melissa pulled out a glossy bag. “I brought you a gift!” She unzipped it and revealed a shimmering designer gown, dripping with sequins.
Her eyes flicked at the pale-blue dress I had stitched. A curl of disdain crossed her face.
*“You can’t wear *that.* Everyone will laugh. Take this—it’s a real dress.”*
My heart twisted. A part of me wanted to believe Melissa was finally back for her daughter.
But then, something slipped from her bag. An envelope.
Emma bent to pick it up. “Mom, you dropped this—” She stopped. Her name was written across the front.
She opened it. Her face went pale.
Inside was a letter from a law firm. It read: “Custody Transfer Agreement for Emma [last name].”
Emma looked up, her voice trembling. “You… you’re only here because of Grandpa’s estate, aren’t you? He left me money.”
Melissa’s smile faltered. She tried to recover, her voice sugary-sweet. “Darling, you don’t understand. I just wanted what’s best for you—”
But Emma wasn’t listening. She clutched the pale-blue dress to her chest like armor. “No. Grandma’s what’s best for me. She raised me. You didn’t.”
Melissa’s mask cracked, her eyes narrowing as she realized her plan was ruined. Without another word, she snatched her bag and stormed out, perfume lingering like poison in the room.
Emma turned to me, tears brimming—but her voice was steady. “I’m wearing your dress, Grandma. The one made with love.”