When my daughter walked down the aisle, it wasn’t in the ivory gown we had spent months perfecting.
Instead, she wore a dress as black as night, and the real shock wasn’t the color—it was the reason behind it.
I still remember the day Jane called me, her voice bubbling with excitement.
“Mom! He proposed!” she nearly screamed through the phone.
I had known it was coming—Jack had been in her life for five years. They were happy.
At least, that’s what I thought back then.
From that moment on, wedding planning consumed our lives.
The first thing we decided on was the dress.
Jane had always dreamed of something unique. Nothing off the rack.
It had to be custom-made, just for her. Luckily, my best friend, Helen,
was one of the most talented seamstresses in town.
“Oh, we’re gonna make her look like a queen,
” Helen said, sketching the first designs with excitement.
