People say money can’t buy love, but my ex’s wife thought she could purchase my daughter’s heart with an expensive gown. She mocked me, tried to outshine me, and attempted to prove she was the better woman. Instead, she ended up with nothing but embarrassment — and my daughter showed her who truly mattered.
I’m April. It’s been six years since my ex-husband Mark and I divorced. He quickly moved on with Cassandra, a woman who speaks like she’s running a shareholders’ meeting and seems to ration kindness as if it were rare gold.
Our daughter Lily is 17 now — a smart, insightful young woman who never fails to surprise me with her wisdom. She’s preparing to graduate and will be off to college in the fall. Somewhere between her shifts at the bookstore and finishing her homework, she stumbled across a prom dress online.
One evening, she burst into the kitchen where I was cooking. “Mom, look at this! This would be perfect for prom!” she said, shoving her phone toward me.
On the screen was a breathtaking satin gown, scattered with tiny beads that glittered like stars. It was also $1,000 — an amount that made my heart sink instantly. Working two jobs pays for our basic needs, but luxuries like that?
Out of reach. “It’s gorgeous, sweetheart,” I told her, trying to hide the ache in my voice. “Really beautiful.”
Her smile faltered, just a little.
“I know it’s too expensive. I just… wanted to dream for a moment.”
That night, long after she’d gone to bed, I sat at the table scrolling through the photos of that dress. And then a thought struck me.
My mother had taught me to sew when I was a child. I hadn’t done it seriously in years — but maybe, just maybe, I could give Lily something close. The next morning, I went to her room, coffee mug in hand.
“What if I made you one? Something really similar. We can pick the fabric and design it together.”
Lily blinked at me, doubtful.
“Mom, that’s a lot of work. What if it doesn’t look right?”
“Then we’ll fix it until it does,” I said. “Your grandmother always said dresses made with love last longer than any bought with money.”
She studied me, then suddenly hugged me.
“Okay. Let’s do it!”
Over the next several weeks, our nights were filled with sketches, swatches, and laughter. Lily wanted something simple but elegant — soft pink fabric, fitted bodice, flowing skirt.
I ordered the materials, charged them to my card, and refused to think about the bill. Every evening after work, I sat at the sewing machine, my tired fingers finding rhythm again. Lily often sat nearby, doing homework or just chatting.
“You get this look, Mom,” she once said, smiling. “Like the world disappears.”
“That’s because it does,” I told her. “When I’m making something for you, nothing else matters.”
Finally, the dress was finished.
When she tried it on, I nearly cried. She looked radiant — not just beautiful, but confident, glowing from the inside out. “Mom,” she whispered in awe, twirling in front of the mirror.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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