The ceremony continued, although the tension lingered. Kids lined up on the stage while parents pulled out their phones. Melissa went and joined her class.
One by one, names were called. Little kids walked across the stage, accepting their certificates while parents clapped and cheered. Then the teacher called my baby girl.
Melissa stepped forward. “Ladies and gentlemen,” the teacher added into the microphone, “Melissa’s dress was handmade by her father.”
The gym erupted in applause. Melissa beamed as she accepted her certificate.
I felt my chest tighten in a completely different way. That woman had tried to humiliate Melissa and me, but it turned into something else entirely. For the first time since Jenna passed away, I felt as if I’d done something right.
After the ceremony ended, several parents walked over. One mother touched the edge of the dress. “This is gorgeous,” she said.
“Did you really make it?”
I nodded. Another father added, “You should sell these.”
I chuckled. “I barely know what I’m doing.”
Later that afternoon, we stopped for ice cream on the way home.
Melissa talked nonstop about the ceremony. “Do you think Brian’ll come back to school tomorrow?”
“Probably.”
As she talked, I found myself staring at the dress again. It had really turned out well.
Better than I expected. Still, as we drove home, another thought crept into my mind. Melissa would start first grade the following year, and her private school tuition wasn’t cheap.
Jenna and I had managed it together when she was alive. But with just my HVAC salary, the numbers had started looking tighter each month. I’d quietly wondered how long I could keep up with the school fees.
That worry sat in the back of my mind the entire drive home. The following morning, I woke up early and checked my phone. Mrs.
Patterson had sent a message. “You should look at the school’s parent page.”
Curious, I opened the link. Melissa’s teacher had posted a photo from graduation.
