“I brought a dress,” I said, holding it out carefully.
Mr. Chen took it with both hands. “Well,” he said slowly, “this isn’t something you see every day.”
“It was my grandma’s. Lorna.”
He paused. “Lorna… Yeah. I remember her.”
“You knew her?”
“Small town. You cross paths.” He didn’t look at me when he said it.
For illustrative purposes only
I sat down while he examined the dress.
“You’re wearing it to the service?”
“Yeah. I figured… she’d like that.”
“Sentimental. She always had a thing for holding onto the past.”
That didn’t sound like a compliment.
“She never even told me about it,” I said. “About prom or anything. It’s not like her.”
Mr. Chen ran his fingers along the hem. “People don’t always tell the full story. Sometimes they edit.”
“That’s a weird way to put it.”
“Is it?” He adjusted the fabric. “You live in her house now?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s a lot to take on at your age.”
“I’ll manage,” I said quickly.
His fingers suddenly stopped. “Hold on.”
My heart skipped. “What?”
“There’s something in the hem. That shouldn’t be there.”
I stood up immediately. “What do you mean?”
“Sometimes people hide things in clothing. Especially items they don’t want found easily.”
“That’s not funny.”
“I’m not joking.”
He reached into the seam and pulled out a small folded piece of paper, yellowed with age.
My hands shook before I even touched it.
“That was inside?”
“Stitched in. Very deliberately.”
I unfolded it carefully. The paper felt fragile, ready to fall apart. I read the first line, and everything inside me dropped.
“If you’re reading this… I’m sorry. I lied to you about everything.”
“No,” I whispered. “That’s not her. That’s not how she talks.” I looked up at Mr. Chen. “This isn’t her handwriting.”
He tilted his head. “Grief can make things feel unfamiliar.”
“This isn’t grief. This is… wrong.”
“Are you sure you knew everything about her?”
The question hit harder than it should have.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Just a question.”
I grabbed the dress. “I need to go.”
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