It was made from olive-drab army shirts.
"I know this isn't the dress people expected," she said, her voice trembling. "But love isn't always satin and pearls."
A few guests murmured.
"My dad couldn't be here today." She smoothed her hands over the dress. "So I made sure he still walked me down the aisle."
Guesst sniffled and started crying softly. My knees felt like they might give out. Her father had died when she was 16, killed in action overseas.
Everything in me loosened then. I thought this was her big surprise.
Then she looked at me, and the combination of fear and sadness I saw in her eyes frightened me.
"I made sure he still walked me down the aisle."
I frowned. "Clara?"
"Mark," she said quietly, "I'll understand if, after what I'm about to say, you want to call off the wedding."
My stomach dropped. "What?"
She reached inside the lining of her dress and pulled out a folded paper. "There's one more reason I made this dress. Something I discovered while I was altering my dad's shirts. A letter…"
Then she looked at my parents.
"There's one more reason I made this dress."
Mom shifted in her seat.
Dad's expression didn't change, but he averted his gaze.
"Susan, Carl. When were you planning to tell me that you knew my father?" Clara asked in a dangerous tone. "Or did you think you could hide the truth about your relationship and what you did to him forever?"
My heart beat a crazed rhythm. I stepped down from the altar. "Mom, Dad?"
"My dad wrote this," Clara lifted the letter. "He wrote it before he deployed, but for some reason, it was never sent. In it, he wrote that he had given everything he could to your business. That he believed in it. That he believed in you."
