Since then, it had been just me, Mom, and Grandma, making do with secondhand everything and love that filled in the gaps where money couldn’t.

So when prom season came, I didn’t even bother asking for a dress. I already knew the answer, and I didn’t want to see that heartbreak in Mom’s eyes again. But Grandma wasn’t one to let reality dull magic. She had a talent for turning struggles into adventures. When our car broke down, she’d say, “An opportunity to stretch your legs.” So she took my hand and said, “Let’s go treasure hunting.”

That’s what she called thrifting—like we were pirates instead of just broke.

At Goodwill, the smell of old books and forgotten stories hung in the air. Most of the dresses looked like relics from high school dances past, but then I saw it: a floor-length, midnight blue dress with lace delicately sewn into the back. It looked like it belonged on