“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.”
I felt something was wrong, but for a moment, I wanted to believe she had come back to rebuild a bond with her daughter. The gown was certainly beautiful, and Emma would look like a princess. My granddaughter bit her lip, looking between her reflection in the mirror and the designer piece.
Before I could encourage her to at least try it on, an envelope slipped from Melissa’s purse and landed on our worn carpet. Emma leaned to pick it up, and we both saw her name written across it in bold letters.
“What is this?” she asked, not returning it to Melissa.
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