Margaret swallowed. “Now I think worth is something you protect in other people. Especially when it would be easier not to.”
My throat tightened. “That’s… a good lesson,” I managed.
Margaret nodded. “Your mother taught me,” she admitted. “And you did too.”
When we got home, David kissed my forehead and whispered, “Who would’ve thought the dress would start all this?”
I looked down at Lily sleeping peacefully, her face soft and unburdened.
“It wasn’t the dress,” I said quietly. “It was the moment she couldn’t ignore her own prejudice.”
David smiled. “And you didn’t shrink.”
I exhaled. “No,” I said. “I didn’t.”
Part 9
Years later, when Lily was old enough to ask questions about everything—why the sky was blue, why dogs sniffed everything, why Grandma Margaret spoke differently than Grandpa Jensen—she found a photo album in our living room.
The wedding album.
She climbed onto the couch beside me, flipping pages with careful fingers. Her eyes widened at the pictures: my dress, David’s stunned smile, the lights, the dancing, the way my mom looked both proud and calm in every frame.
Lily pointed at one photo—Margaret sitting beside Elena Richie at the head table, clinking glasses with my mother.