Prom was never part of the plan. In our small house with its secondhand furniture and stretched grocery budget, it felt like a luxury we couldn’t afford. So I didn’t ask for a dress. I didn’t want to see that look on Mom’s face—the one that said she wanted to give me the world, but just couldn’t.
But Grandma? She had a way of finding light in the cracks.
“You’d be surprised what people give away,” she said one afternoon with a playful wink. “Let’s go treasure hunting.”
That’s what she called thrift shopping. Not bargain-hunting—treasure hunting. And somehow, it made all the difference.
We stepped into the downtown Goodwill, the air filled with the scent of old books and forgotten stories. While most of the formalwear screamed 1980s high school reunion, one dress caught my eye: midnight blue, floor-length, with lace dancing across the back. It looked brand new. Elegant. Timeless. And just $12.
Back home, Grandma carefully hemmed the dress. Her hands, steady and practiced from decades of sewing, worked with quiet purpose. That’s when I noticed something odd near the zipper—a patch of stitching slightly off in color, clearly done by hand.
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