“Both of you, enough.”
My hands shook as I buttoned the bodice, the sash made from Dad’s service tie feeling heavier than ever. I pinned his silver pin, the one from basic training, at my waist and stared at my reflection.
For a second, I hesitated. Was I about to make a fool of myself?
Downstairs, laughter rolled through the house. I could hear Jen saying, “She’s probably wearing something she found at Goodwill.” Her voice carried straight up the staircase.
Lia chimed in. “Or something she pulled out of the donation bin behind the church.”
Both girls laughed.
“She’s probably wearing something she found at Goodwill.”
I forced myself to breathe. I had to do this. I opened my door and started down the stairs. Jen’s mouth fell open.
“Oh my God, is that…?'”
Lia blinked, then snorted. “You made your dress out of a uniform? Are you serious right now?”
Camila’s eyes narrowed. “You cut up a uniform for that? Lord, look at you, Chelsea.”
“I didn’t cut it up. I made something out of what he left me.”
Camila laughed. “He left you rags, Chelsea. And it shows.”
Jen shook her head. “What, working at the diner wasn’t enough for a real dress?”
“He left you rags, Chelsea. And it shows.”
“It looks like you’re wearing something from the dollar store,” Lia added. “Although that’s totally your style.”
I blinked hard, willing the tears not to come.
Suddenly, the doorbell rang, three loud knocks, cutting straight through their laughter.
Camila groaned. “Probably someone complaining about your parking again, Chelsea. Go answer it.”
I tried, but my legs wouldn’t move.
Camila sighed, brushed past me, and opened the door. A military officer in full dress uniform stood on the porch. Next to him was a woman in a dark suit, holding a briefcase. Both looked solemn.
A military officer in full dress uniform stood on the porch.
“Are you Camila, ma’am?” the officer asked, voice calm but commanding.
She straightened. “Yes. Is there a problem?”
The officer gave a small nod, then glanced past her, scanning the room. His eyes landed on me.
“Which one of you is Chelsea?” he asked.
My breath caught. “I am.”
Something in his expression softened slightly.
“We’re here on behalf of Staff Sergeant Martin,” he said. “I have a letter to deliver, by his instructions, on this date. This is Shinia, our military attorney.
My stomach dropped.
“Your father was very specific,” the officer added gently. “He asked us to deliver this on the night of your prom. He wanted to be sure we were here in person.”
The woman stepped forward, opening the briefcase. “There are additional documents regarding the house. May we come in?”
