Chapter 1: The Dress Made of Memories
My stepmom mocked the prom dress my little brother made from our late mom's old jeans—but karma was already waiting for her.
"Spending that much on a prom dress is ridiculous."
My stepmom said it without even glancing up from her phone.
I stood across the kitchen holding the school notice with the prom dates.
I'd spent all afternoon gathering the courage to ask.
"Mom left us money for things like this," I said quietly.
Carla snorted.
"We need that money for real expenses now," she replied.
"Besides, nobody needs to see you parade around in some overpriced fairy-tale gown."
Then she dropped her new designer purse onto the counter.
The price tag was still attached.
My dad had d*ed unexpectedly from a heart attack the year before.
Since then, Carla had controlled every cent we had—including the money my mother had saved for my younger brother and me.
That settled it.
No dress.
No prom.
I went upstairs and held back tears.
But my brother Noah had heard everything.
He was fifteen.
The year before, he'd ended up in a sewing class because woodworking was full.
Other boys teased him about it for months.
After that, he refused to talk about sewing again.
Until one evening, he appeared at my bedroom door carrying a pile of Mom's old jeans.
She'd kept them for years.
"Do you trust me?" Noah asked.
For the next two weeks, he turned our kitchen into his sewing room.
What he made was beautiful.
Different shades of denim blended together like pieces of memories I'd shared with Mom.
When Carla saw it on prom morning, she burst out laughing.
"That's the most embarrassing dress I've ever seen," she said.
"Wear that to prom, and everyone will laugh at you."
I wore it anyway.
My little brother had made it for me.
And every piece of fabric had once belonged to Mom.
Carla even came to prom with her phone ready, telling other parents she couldn't wait to record my "fashion disaster."
But the moment I stepped onto the stage, the music suddenly stopped.
The principal walked straight toward Carla and held out the microphone.
Then he motioned to the cameraman.
"Get a close-up of this woman," he said slowly.
"Because I'm pretty sure I recognize her..."
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What did the principal recognize — and what was Carla hiding?
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