And Margaret helped by doing something she hadn’t done much when David was younger: showing up consistently, without demanding control.
One afternoon, Lily asked Margaret, “Do you want to help me pick fabric?”
Margaret blinked, startled by the invitation, then nodded carefully. “Yes,” she said. “If you want me to.”
They spent an hour touching fabric swatches, debating color tone, arguing gently about whether a satin sheen was too much.
At the end, Lily chose a deep forest green—elegant, rich, but not flashy.
Margaret smiled softly. “That color looks like confidence,” she said.
Lily grinned. “That’s the goal.”
Two weeks before prom, Lily came into my room holding her sketchbook again, biting her lip.
“Mom,” she said, “I want to ask you something weird.”
I sat up. “Okay.”
Lily hesitated. “Could I use a piece of your wedding dress?”
My breath caught.
“The dress is special,” Lily rushed on. “I know. But I don’t want to ruin it. Just… a tiny piece. Like inside the bodice, where only I would know. Like… a reminder.”
I stared at her, suddenly seeing the whole thread of our family story in one request.