Chapter 4 - My Mother's Dress
Mr. Harmon came back a few minutes later with Marissa. He had a tablet, and both of them looked grim.
"We found who went into the bridal suite," he said, and set the tablet in front of me.
The video showed the empty hallway. According to the timestamp, Nadia and I had been outside less than two minutes when Sabrina came into frame.
She was still carrying the white box.
She stopped outside the suite door, looked left, looked right, and pushed it open.
Then she went in.
She was in there almost five minutes.
When she came out, she had the box clutched against her chest. She pulled the door shut, walked down the hall, and disappeared toward the coatroom.
Mr. Harmon switched to a second camera. It showed Sabrina walking into the coatroom with the box — and walking out without it.
"She told my father she was bringing decorations," I said.
"We found the box," Mr. Harmon said. "There's a pair of dressmaker's shears inside. Along with several pieces of ivory silk and lace."
Nadia let out a hard breath. "That's enough."
My stomach rolled over. Sabrina hadn't lost her temper and grabbed the nearest sharp thing. She'd packed those shears at home, hidden them in a hatbox, and waited for the room to empty out.
Marissa looked at me carefully. "Do you want us to confront her?"
"Where is she?"
"Front of the church," Mr. Harmon said. "Second row. She's telling people she came early to help. Nobody asked her to."
"Does she know you found the box?"
"No."
I looked at the clock. Dad still wasn't there. If we went after Sabrina right now, he'd walk into a church full of shouting and accusations and maybe police.
That was the mess she'd built. I wasn't going to let it be the only thing anyone remembered about my wedding.
"Save the footage," I said. "Make copies. Lock up the box."
"Already done," Mr. Harmon said.
"Don't confront her yet. Put someone by the exits, call the police — but I'm getting married first."
Nadia stared at me. "You are terrifyingly calm right now."
"I'm not calm. I'm just scheduling the breakdown for later."
Aunt Carol got back in thirty-two minutes with a long white preservation box. By then the musicians had been told there'd be a delay, and guests were drinking lemonade out in the courtyard.
We opened the box together. Under the tissue paper was my mother's wedding gown.
Ivory satin. Hand-sewn pearl beading around the neckline. Delicate lace sleeves. Simple, and somehow timeless. The fabric smelled faintly of cedar.
For a second I couldn't make myself touch it.
I remembered the photos of Mom in that dress — twenty-six years old, standing next to my father under an arch of flowers, laughing because the wind kept flipping her veil up over her face.
Aunt Carol put her arm around me. "She'd want you to have it."
With Nadia's help, I stepped into it.
It wasn't a perfect fit. The waist pinched, and the sleeves ran long. But the emergency seamstress showed up within minutes and got to work. She let out the left seam and pinned the sleeves shorter with quick temporary stitches.
The full skirt had a second layer of lining under it, a lot of it hand-stitched. Working near my left hip, she pressed her fingertips into the fabric.
"There's something flat sewn in through here," she said.
"Old interfacing?" Aunt Carol guessed.
"Maybe. Could be part of the original construction."
"Should we open it?" I asked.
She studied the aging thread. "I'd rather not cut into the original lining unless I have to. The fabric's already fragile, and there's no time to rebuild a whole panel. Whatever it is, it's thin and it's holding."
She reinforced the outer seam instead. But taking in that seam put fresh tension on the old inner lining.
None of us knew that the flat object was an envelope, sewn into a narrow pocket between the two layers of the skirt.
The seamstress finished about fifteen minutes later.
When I looked in the mirror, my eyes filled up.
I didn't look exactly like my mother. I still looked like me. But I could see her — in the shape of my smile, the color of my eyes, the way the lace sat against my collarbones.
May you like
Nadia fastened Mom's pearl earrings on me. "There," she whispered. "Now you're ready."
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