I Donated My Late Daughter's Prom Dress Twenty Years Ago – Last Week, Someone Knocked on My Door Wearing It

Madeline held it toward me.

I took the envelope.

"I wrote this."

"I know."

My eyes snapped to hers.

"How?"

"It's addressed to Teresa, your daughter."

"I wrote this."

Hearing my daughter's name in a stranger's mouth felt like a hand closing around my throat.

"Did you read it?"

"The first page."

"You had no right."

"I know."

No excuse. No defense.

"You had no right."

That made it harder to stay angry.

Madeline stepped back.

"I stopped when I understood what it was. Your address was on the envelope. I didn't know whether you still lived here, but I couldn't throw it away."

"You could've mailed it."

"I could've."

"I stopped when I understood what it was."

"Then why didn't you?"

Her eyes dropped to the skirt.

"Because you wrote that you never saw your daughter wear it."

I pressed the letter against my chest.

"The dress survived," I said. "Teresa didn't."

Madeline's face softened.

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