Prom night was supposed to feel like stepping into a memory I’d been saving since I was small—the lavender satin, the tiny embroidered flowers, the spaghetti straps that caught light like water. When I was little, I’d sit on Mom’s lap and trace the dress in her scrapbook photos, promising I’d wear it when I turned seventeen. We kept that promise the way you keep a candle in a storm—protected, carefully, always within reach.

Continues…