After Spending Six Months Hand-Sewing My Daughter’s Wedding Dress, I Walked Into The Bridal Suite Just In Time To Hear Her Laugh, “If She Asks, Tell Her It Doesn’t Fit. It Looks Like Something From A BARGAIN RACK.”

The Vera Wang from the boutique. It’s more
appropriate for the photographs.” Halie’s eyes darted between the dress I’d made and the woman who would soon be her
mother-in-law. I watched my daughter weigh her choices like a merchant calculating profit and loss.

And I saw
the exact moment she chose the path that led away from me. “Mom, I think maybe we
should go with the other dress. This one is” She paused, searching for words that
wouldn’t cut too deep.

“It’s just not quite right for the venue.” The needle sharp pain of rejection pierced through
23 years of scraped knees I’d bandaged, nightmares I’d chased away, and dreams
I’d encouraged. I folded the dress back into its tissue paper shroud, my
movements careful and precise. The way I’d learned to handle disappointment with dignity intact.

“Of course,” I said,
“Whatever makes you happy.” I stepped into the hallway to give them privacy, but also to breathe. The corridor’s
thick carpet muffled the sounds of wedding preparation, but I could still hear voices through the door I hadn’t
quite closed. “Thank God you came to your senses.” Mia’s voice carried clearly.

“Can
you imagine the photographs? Everyone would wonder where on earth that dress came from.” Hi laughed, a bright, nervous
sound that pierced straight through me. “If anyone asks, I’ll just say it doesn’t fit.

It looks like something from a

Continue reading…