It might look… silly.“
“Lily, it doesn’t have to be perfect, my darling. It just has to be ours. Now, tell me what you need from me.”
We worked together, her fingers moving quickly despite the tremor in her hands.
She reknit sections where the yarn had been pulled apart, leaving the repairs visible instead of hiding them. When she finished, she held it up — patched and imperfect — and smiled anyway. “She tried to ruin it,” Lily whispered.
“But she didn’t get to.”
When I walked down the aisle that afternoon, the wind caught the hem of the dress and lifted it slightly, just enough to make it flutter. The yarn held strong. So did we.
Lily sat in the front row, her back straight, and her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Her eyes followed every step I took, and when I reached the altar, she gave me a nod. It felt like a promise.
Daniel took my hands and leaned in. “I feel… like the best version of myself,” I said, echoing my daughter’s words. “Then we’re starting off right,” he said, his smile deepening.
After the ceremony, Lily found me near the garden archway. Her arms wrapped around my waist without a word, and she pressed her cheek into my side. The laughter and clink of glasses blurred behind us.
Lily held on like she needed proof I was real. I held her back just as tight. Later that night, after the last guest had gone and Lily was asleep, Daniel and I stood barefoot in the kitchen.
“I keep thinking about her face,” he said quietly. “Like hurting a child was just… reasonable.”
I wrapped my cardigan tighter. “She wanted to ruin today.
Daniel shook his head once. “She didn’t get to,” he said, pulling me close. “No one can rewrite what Lily did for us.
Not ever.”
And for the first time all day, my chest loosened — because the thing holding us together wasn’t a dress. It was the fact that when someone came for my child, my husband didn’t hesitate. He chose us.
If this happened to you, what would you do? We’d love to hear your thoughts in the Facebook comments.
