“Thank you, Daddy,” Emma said.
She carried it upstairs.
I stayed at the sink, picking a loose thread off my sweater.
There was nothing wrong with the dress I’d made. I knew that.
Still, standing in my own kitchen, I felt foolish about every hour I’d spent working on it.
Five minutes later, I heard footsteps.
Zach raised his phone.
“There she is. Let’s show Stacy.”
Emma stopped on the bottom step.
“You can film me now, Dad.”
She was wearing my dress.
The pale-blue skirt spread around her knees, and the sleeves I’d struggled with fit perfectly. Stacy’s tiara sparkled against her hair.
The purchased costume was folded over her arm.
Zach lowered his phone.
“Emma, where’s your new dress?”
“Right here.” She lifted the folded costume. “I’m taking it to your house.”
“But why aren’t you wearing it?”
“Because I wanted to wear this one.”
Zach looked at me.
