My mom passed away when I was five, and after that, we became everything to each other.
We never talked much about money, but I understood early:
Don’t ask for too much.
Don’t expect too much.
Especially not something like a prom dress.
So when I casually said, “I might borrow a dress,” what I really meant was:
We can’t afford one.
He heard something else.
“Don’t worry about the dress,” he said. “I’ll take care of it.”
That didn’t make sense.
My dad barely owned more than a few work shirts.
But then I started noticing things.
The closet was always shut.
Packages showed up.
And every night… that sewing machine.
One night, I got up quietly and walked into the living room.
There he was.
Focused.
Careful.
Working on soft ivory fabric like it was the most important thing in the world.
