I found my prom dress at a thrift store for $12. But hidden in the lining was a handwritten note meant for someone else: a mother’s plea for forgiveness from a daughter named Ellie. She never read it — but I did.
And I couldn’t just let it go.
I’d always been the quiet kid in class; the one teachers nodded about approvingly while whispering about my bright future.
But sitting in our cramped kitchen, watching Mom count out grocery money in crumpled singles, I knew that potential was just a fancy word for “not quite there yet.” And that didn’t pay bills.
Dad had walked out when I was seven. Just packed his stuff one morning and never came back.
Since then, it had been me, Mom, and Grandma squeezed into our little house with its secondhand everything and faded family photos.
We made it work though. There was this quiet rhythm to our struggle, you know?
Love filling in all the empty spaces where money should have been.
…The story doesn’t end here, it continues on the next page 👇
