The weeks that followed blurred together—casseroles from neighbors, paperwork, and the usual sympathetic phrases people say when they don’t know how to help.
Colin stayed beside me through everything. He held me when I broke down but never tried to force me to be okay.
A few weeks later I went back to my mom’s house to start packing up her things.
Every drawer felt like a decision I wasn’t ready to make. I would open one, stare at the contents, and close it again as if that counted as progress.
Eventually I wandered into the living room.
The quilt was folded neatly on a shelf behind the couch.
I pulled it down and pressed it against my chest.
For a moment I closed my eyes and imagined that if I turned around, she’d be standing there saying, “What are you doing snooping through my things?”
That was when I realized what I wanted to do.
Later that evening I told Colin, bracing myself for him to think my idea was strange.
“I want to turn it into my wedding skirt,” I said. “Not the whole dress. I know it sounds—”
“Beautiful,” he said immediately.
“Really?”
“Yes, really. Your mom made that to keep you warm. Wearing it on your wedding day makes perfect sense.”
A seamstress helped design the skirt.
The final result was stunning—far more elegant than I had imagined.
The first time I tried it on, I stared into the mirror and felt as though my mom was standing quietly behind me.
Then Colin’s mother, Linda, saw it.
Linda had always been polished and perfectly composed in a way that made me feel slightly out of place around her.
