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He cleared his throat. “That dress isn’t just fabric.
She never bought anything for herself. Her clothes were old. Her dreams, always on hold.”
He paused, voice thick.
“And now? She’s finally doing something for herself. She sewed that dress by hand.
Every stitch tells a story. That pink dress? It’s freedom…
and joy. It’s decades of love wrapped up in satin.”
He turned to Emily. “If you can’t respect my mom, we’ve got a bigger problem.
But I will always stand up for the woman who raised me.”
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