Her daughter hesitated, then answered honestly:
“Of time. Of losing you. Of… seeing you step into something new when I’ve always needed you to stay the same.”
That landed softly, but deeply.
She reached out and took her daughter’s hand.
“I’m not going anywhere,” she said. “But I am still moving forward.”
Tears filled her daughter’s eyes again—but this time, they weren’t heavy.
They were understanding.
Later, as she stepped into the dress, her hands didn’t shake.
Not like they had at nineteen.
There was no rush. No pressure. No voice telling her to hurry or be quiet or behave a certain way.
Continue on the next page:
