But at that exact moment, a sharp knock rattled our front door. I opened it and froze. Melissa stood on our porch, smiling brightly. I could see the passage of time in her face. She was 43 now, but she still looked great. Her makeup was flawless, and her hair was perfectly styled.
Her designer heels clicked against the wooden boards as she swept inside uninvited with a glossy garment over her shoulder. ‘My baby girl!’ she exclaimed, pulling Emma into a dramatic hug. Emma stood stiff in her arms, confused. I watched from the doorway, just as puzzled. She couldn’t be this dense. She hadn’t attempted to contact us even once since she’d abandoned her daughter.
But she kept up the enthusiasm, and with a theatrical flourish, she presented the garment bag to Emma. ‘Here you go!’ she said. But when Emma simply stared, she unzipped it and pulled a glittering silver gown out. It probably cost more than what I made in three months. ‘I brought you a special gift,’ she purred, holding up the dress. Her eyes flicked over my granddaughter and her homemade gown.
‘I think I came just in time. Prom’s tomorrow, right? I heard some girls at the boutique talking about it.’
‘Ye-yes, it’s tomorrow,’ Emma stuttered.
‘So, it’s good that I came. You can’t wear that, sweetheart,’ she scoffed, wrinkling her nose at the blue dress. ‘Everyone will laugh at you. Take this — a real dress for prom.’
Read more on the next page ⬇️⬇️⬇️
