I pushed open the dress shop.
But my steps stopped at the door.
At the counter, Emily, holding a pair of scissors, was haphazardly cutting a dress.
It was the coming-of-age gown my mother had designed for me before she died.
This is all I have left of her.
For so many years, I kept it carefully wrapped in my closet, afraid it would fade or snag, afraid even of light.
Now, the packaging lay torn on the floor, the dress shredded into pieces. I felt like I'd been slapped hard, my head buzzing.
"Who allowed you to touch my things?" I practically yelled.
Emily, startled, stepped back.
The scissors in her hand ripped along the front of the dress, tearing it in two.
My mind exploded with a bang.
My hand instinctively shot up, but before I could touch Emily, Andrew shoved me away.
I crashed into the decorative cabinet behind me,
and several ceramic ornaments toppled, shattering around me across the floor.
This time, Andrew glared at me, no longer pretending to defend me.
"Vivian, are you crazy? You're going to hit someone over a dress?"
Emily hid behind him, a look of innocence softening her face. "Sister, I just thought the dress was too old-fashioned, so I wanted to alter it. I didn’t mean to."