Chapter 1
I found my dress at 6:47 in the morning.
Graduation started at nine. I'd set my alarm for six, even though I'd been awake since five. I'd dreamed about this day for months — no, years. I'd worked two part-time jobs, bagging groceries and tutoring middle schoolers, saving every dollar. I'd skipped lunch. I'd said no to movies, to concerts, to everything.
All for that dress.
It was champagne silk, with a beaded neckline and a skirt that swirled when I walked. I'd altered it myself, taken it in at the waist, shortened the hem. And sewn inside the lining, over the heart, was a square of lace from my mother's wedding dress. She'd died when I was eight. That lace was the only thing I had left of her.
I reached into my closet. My fingers found silk. But it wasn't smooth. It was — shredded.
I pulled the dress out.
The bodice was cut from shoulder to waist. The skirt hung in ribbons. The beading was scattered across the closet floor. And the lace — my mother's lace — had been cut out entirely. A ragged hole where it used to be.
My knees gave out. I sat on the floor, holding the ruins, and I couldn't breathe.
Mia.
My stepsister. Eighteen, same grade, same school. She'd been jealous for months — jealous that I was valedictorian, jealous that I'd gotten into State on a full scholarship, jealous that Dad was proud of me. Jealous of a dress.
I ran to her room. She was sitting at her vanity, painting her nails, her graduation dress — brand new, bought by her mother — hanging in her closet.
"You did this," I said. My voice broke.
Mia didn't even look up. She blew on her nails. "Did what?"
"My dress. You cut it up. Where's the lace? Where's my mother's lace?"
She turned. She smiled. A slow, satisfied smile. She reached into her desk drawer and tossed a pair of heavy scissors onto her bed.
"That tacky thing?" she said. "I was doing you a favor. You'd have looked ridiculous. Silk is so last year. And that old lace? Gross. I threw it away."
I stared at her. "You threw it away."
"Relax. It's just a dress. You can wear something else."
I ran back to my room. I dug through the trash can. Nothing. The lace was gone.
Carla — my stepmother, Mia's mom — appeared in my doorway. She'd heard the shouting. She looked at the dress in my hands. At the scissors on Mia's bed. At my face.
"Aaliyah," she said, sighing like I was the problem. "You're overreacting. It's just a piece of cloth. Mia didn't mean anything by it. You can borrow one of her dresses."
I looked at her. "Borrow one of her dresses. After she destroyed mine. After she threw away my mother's lace."
Carla's voice got cold. "Don't take that tone with me. You're being dramatic. It's graduation, not a funeral. Put something on and let's go."
That was the exact moment the front door opened.
Dad. David. He'd been out early, getting the car detailed. He walked into the hallway. He saw my face. He saw the dress. He saw the scissors. He saw Carla's expression. Mia, behind her, smirking.
He didn't yell. He never yelled. Dad was quiet. That was what made him scary.
He walked slowly into Mia's room. He looked around. On the armchair, in plain sight, was Mia's pride — a three-thousand-dollar designer leather handbag. The one she'd posted about fifty times. The one Carla had bought her for her birthday.
Dad picked it up. He took the scissors from the bed. And he cut it. Right down the middle. Leather split. Lining spilled. The strap fell in two pieces.
Mia screamed. "My bag! That was three thousand dollars!"
Dad looked at her. His voice was ice. "It's just leather."
Mia's mouth opened. Nothing came out. Carla stared, speechless.
Dad looked at both of them. "Start packing. Both of you are out of my house today."
Carla found her voice. "David, you can't — we're married. This is my house too."
"Then we'll get divorced," Dad said. "But today, you leave. And if either of you ever touches Aaliyah's things again, I will call the police. Do I make myself clear?"
Nobody answered.
Dad took my hand. He led me away. Behind us, Mia was crying over her bag. Carla was screaming. But I didn't care.
May you like
My dress was gone. My mother's lace was gone. But my father — my father had finally chosen me.
And that was worth more than any dress.
