« This one. I want to wear this one. »
Grandma Evelyn pressed her hand against her heart.
For a long moment, she could not speak.
« I started this dress the week after my diagnosis, » she finally said. « Every stitch was a prayer. Every seam was a promise. »
« Every stitch was a prayer. »
« A promise for what? »
« That you would always know how loved you are. Even after I’m gone. »
I turned and hugged her carefully.
She felt smaller than she used to, but her arms still held me like nothing in the world could hurt me.
« I have something to tell you about this fabric someday, » she whispered into my hair. « It has a story. A good one. »
« It has a story. »
« Tell me now. »
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