***
By the time we pulled up to the school, students were already gathered outside taking pictures. Heads turned as Sergeant Brooks stepped out of Dad’s old Chevy in full dress uniform and came around to open my door.
I froze.
Brooks offered me his arm. “You go in there and dance, you hear? That’s an order.”
“Yes, sir,” I said, and a few kids nearby started whispering before I’d even reached the doors.
***
“That’s an order.”
Inside, the gym was loud and bright. For a second, I froze, until Mrs. Lopez spotted me by the door.
She crossed the floor, eyes wide. “Chelsea, is that your dad’s jacket, hon?”
“I made this dress for tonight.”
She touched my sleeve gently. “You honor him, sweetheart. Don’t ever forget that.”
By then, half a dozen people had turned to look. Someone near the punch table whispered, “She made that from her father’s uniform?”
I braced for the worst.
“You honor him, sweetheart. Don’t ever forget that.”
Instead, someone started clapping. Then more joined in. The applause spread across the gym.
My friend, Sarah, found me in the crowd and grabbed my hand. “You hear that? They love it. This is your night.”
We danced, awkward at first, then free.
***
Later, Brooks drove me home.
The porch light was still on. Inside, Camila sat at the kitchen table with the attorney’s papers spread in front of her. Two suitcases stood by the stairs. Lia’s eyes were red, and Jen wouldn’t look at me.
We danced, awkward at first, then free.
Camila’s phone lay faceup beside the papers, lighting up again and again with messages she wasn’t answering.
On the table beside the papers was another envelope with my name in Dad’s handwriting.
I opened it with trembling hands:
“Chels, if you’re reading this, it means you made it.
You’re braver than you think.
Love, Dad.”
I pressed the note to my chest and looked around the quiet house.
For the first time since Dad died, this house was mine again, and so was my life.
“Chels, if you’re reading this, it means you made it.”
