“Kindergarten graduation is next Friday! We have to dress fancy! Everyone’s getting new dresses!”
I smiled. “Already?”
She nodded excitedly, but there was also something thoughtful in her eyes.
That night, after she went to sleep, I checked my bank balance on my phone.
A fancy dress wasn’t possible.
I rubbed my face and sighed. “Think, David,” I muttered to myself.
Then I remembered the box.
Rachel used to collect silk handkerchiefs. I never understood the obsession, but every time we traveled she searched little stores for them. Floral patterns, embroidered edges, soft ivory fabric.
She kept them carefully folded in a wooden box in our closet.
After she died, I couldn’t touch them.
Until that night.
I opened the box and ran my fingers over the fabrics.
Then an idea came to me.
The year before, our neighbor Mrs. Carter, a retired seamstress, had given me an old sewing machine when she cleaned out her basement. She thought I could sell it for extra money after Rachel passed away.
I never sold it.
So I pulled it out and started working.
My mother had taught me a little sewing when I was younger. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to try.