PART 1 — MY MOTHER’S LAST GIFT

My stepmother walked into my prom wearing an almost exact copy of the dress my late mother had sewn for me.

For one horrible second, people thought we had planned to match.

Shirley smiled as if she had won something.

My father looked at the floor.

I turned toward the exit, fighting tears, but my date, Gary, caught my arm.

“Don’t disappear, Delilah.”

Those words stopped me.

Because my mother had said exactly the same thing while making the dress.

A year earlier, Mom sat in bed with dusty pink fabric spread across her lap. She was already very sick, and some days her hands shook so badly she could barely hold a spoon.

Still, she insisted on sewing the tiny fabric flowers around the neckline herself.

“Mom, let me finish it,” I begged.

“No. The flowers are mine.”

She knew she probably would not live long enough to see me wear the dress to prom.