She laughed with her friends, admired every decorated porch, and insisted on keeping her princess dress on even after we got home.
When I helped her remove the tiara, I said, “You know you didn’t have to wear my dress just because I made it.”
She looked confused.
“But I wanted to.”
“I know. I just don’t want you worrying about hurting my feelings.”
Emma fiddled with the edge of her sleeve.
“Dad showed me the other dress last weekend.”
I stopped folding her tights.
“He did?”
“He showed me pictures and said Stacy could get me something better.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you were still sewing mine.”
She looked toward the machine on the dining table.
“I heard you working really late.”
I sat beside her.
“Sweetheart, I wanted to make that dress. You didn’t have to protect me.”
“I know.”
But she said it too quickly.
