Afterward, I moved into Mark’s house with Emma and worked every job I could find to keep the mortgage paid and food on the table. I cleaned homes until my knees ached, babysat neighbor kids, and waited tables at a local diner until my feet swelled. Time passed like pages turning.
I aged into my 70s with a back that ached every morning and more wrinkles than I could count. But I still had my energy, and Emma grew into a beautiful young lady. She was kind and thoughtful. She never even asked for much, although I knew all her friends came from much better-off families.
Still, she somehow made thrifted clothes seem up-to-date and told me she loved me constantly. But I knew that all high school girls wanted to feel beautiful at one event: their senior prom.
A few weeks before, I asked if she planned to go. She shook her head and said softly, ‘Grandma, don’t worry. I don’t need to go. We can’t afford a dress anyway. I already looked at Goodwill. Nothing will work.’ She tried to sound nonchalant, but I knew it hurt her, and I hated any time she had to go without.
Therefore, the next day, I found a nice soft blue satin fabric at a local vintage shop that wasn’t too expensive. And that night, after my shift at the diner, I dragged my old sewing machine to the kitchen table and began working on her gown.
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