**The Wedding Dress**
“How dare you, Isabelle? How dare you try on my wedding dress?” Evelyn’s voice trembled with indignation as she stood in the doorway, her fingers gripping the frame until they turned white.
Isabelle turned, the zip on the back still undone. The white satin dress clung to her slender frame, nipping at the waist before cascading to the floor in elegant folds.
“Evelyn, I—I only wanted to see if it would suit me,” she stammered, blushing scarlet. “Nathan said it would be fine—”
“Nathan said?” Her mother-in-law stepped forward, fists clenched. “My son had no right to let you touch my things! This is sacred to me—do you understand? Sacred!”
Isabelle fumbled with the zip, but it jammed. The more she tugged, the more stubbornly it stuck.
“Evelyn, please help—I can’t get it off—”
“Don’t you dare tear it!” Evelyn snapped. “If you ruin it, I’ll never forgive you! Stand still!”
Her hands shook as she carefully worked the zip free. Isabelle could feel the tension radiating from the wiry woman with her hair pulled back in a tight bun.
“Do you even know what this means?” Evelyn whispered, easing the dress from Isabelle’s shoulders. “This isn’t just fabric. I married Nathan’s father in this dress. May he rest in peace…”
Silently, Isabelle pulled on her plain jumper. In the mirror, she watched Evelyn smooth every fold, checking for wrinkles.
“I’m sorry,” Isabelle murmured. “I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s just—the wedding’s in a month, and I can’t afford a dress…”
Evelyn whirled around. “Then who’s forcing you to marry? Did you think my son would support you? He’s barely grown himself!”
“We love each other.”
“Love!” Evelyn scoffed. “Love won’t pay the rent or feed children! I thought I loved too, and look where it left me—struggling my whole life!”
Footsteps sounded in the hall, and Nathan appeared—tall, fair-haired, instantly sensing the tension.
“What’s happened? Mum, why are you so red?”
“Ask your fiancée what she’s been up to!” Evelyn slammed the wardrobe shut.
Nathan looked from Isabelle to his mother. “Belle, did you try on the dress?”
“I—I told you I wanted to see it. You said your mum wouldn’t mind—”
“I thought she’d be out,” he admitted awkwardly.
“Oh, so you schemed behind my back! In my own home, with my things!”
“Mum, don’t blow up. It’s just a dress, sitting there unused—”
Silence fell. Evelyn turned slowly, and Isabelle saw the pain in her eyes—old, deep.
“Unused? So my memories mean nothing? Neither do I?”
“Mum, that’s not what I meant—”
“Listen, son,” Evelyn straightened, “live your life. But leave my dress alone. Save up and buy your own.”
She left, and the kitchen door slammed behind her.
“Now we’re in for it,” Nathan sighed. “She won’t speak to me for weeks.”
“Nate, why is she like this? I didn’t mean any harm…”
He rubbed his face. “It’s a long story. After Dad died, she changed. She keeps his things like relics. Sometimes she takes the dress out, talks to it…”
“Talks to it?”
“Yeah. Thinks I don’t hear. Once, when I was little, I listened. She told it how much she missed him… I get it, though.”
Isabelle sat beside him. “Should I talk to her?”
“Carefully. She’s in a mood.”
In the kitchen, Evelyn chopped vegetables with sharp, angry strokes.
“Evelyn… may I come in?”
“If you must.”
Isabelle hesitated. “I wanted to apologise. My mother died when I was small, and my aunt raised me—we never had much. I thought—”
“Thought you’d take advantage?”
“No! I thought… maybe you’d treat me like a daughter.”
Evelyn paused. “A daughter? That’s earned.”
“Then tell me how.”
Evelyn set the knife down. “Fine. Sit.”
She told Isabelle of the dress—how she and her mother had sewn it by hand, every bead lovingly placed.
“It was my one perfect day. James—Nathan’s father—carried me over the threshold. Said I was the most beautiful bride. Then life happened. The last time I wore it was before he died.”
Isabelle whispered, “I understand now.”
“Do you? Then why ask about it?”
“I… wondered if Nathan looks like him.”
Evelyn fetched an old album. Together, they paged through faded photos—a young Evelyn radiant in white, a dark-haired man beside her.
“You made a handsome couple.”
“We did.”
“Evelyn… what if we made my dress together?”
A pause. “There’s little time. Good fabric costs—”
“I have some savings. Enough for material. If you’d help…”
Evelyn agreed. For weeks, they worked. At first, Isabelle’s stitches were clumsy.
“Your hands are hopeless. How will you keep house like this?”
“I’m trying!”
But slowly, she improved. Evenings were spent listening to Evelyn’s stories—of meeting James at the community centre, his skilled hands, his tireless work ethic.
“I worry Nathan will do the same—work himself to death. For you.”
“We’ll share everything.”
“We’ll see.”
By the wedding, the dress was nearly done.
“Stand still,” Evelyn ordered, adjusting the hem. Isabelle gazed at her reflection—a bride, beautiful and proud.
“It’s perfect.”
On the wedding day, Evelyn helped dress her.
“Ready?” Nathan called.
“Ready!” Evelyn hugged Isabelle suddenly. “Be happy, love. Look after my boy.”
“Love?”
“Well, you’re wearing my handiwork, joining my family. What else would you be?”
As they left, Isabelle glanced back. Evelyn stood at the window, holding her old dress, watching them go.
“Nate… is she crying?”
“No,” Nathan smiled. “Just saying goodbye to the past. And welcoming the future.”
**Lesson:** Sometimes, the things we cling to aren’t just objects—they hold stories, love, and lessons. Letting go doesn’t mean forgetting; it means making space for new beginnings.
