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

"What did you write?"

I slid the letter toward her.

She unfolded it and began reading.

When she reached the line about Teresa dying alone, her hand shook.

I slid the letter toward her.

"Why did you write that?"

I stared at her.

"Because it was true."

Phoebe shook her head. "No."

Tanya pushed back so fast that her chair scraped the floor.

"Phoebe, wait."

"Why did you write that?"

"Wait for what?" Phoebe asked. She pressed her palms to the table. "Olivia has blamed herself for 20 years."

"This isn't how I wanted her to hear it."

I stood.

"Tell me what?"

Neither of them answered.

"Where was Teresa when you last saw her?"

"This isn't how I wanted her to hear it."

Tanya's face folded.

"Olivia, please."

"Was she inside the car?"

Phoebe covered her mouth. Her answer came through her fingers.

"No."

The room went still.

"Was she inside the car?"

I gripped the chair.

"Then where was she?"

"On the bank," Tanya whispered. "With me."

My knees weakened. I sat before they gave out.

"She got out?"

"Yes," Phoebe said. "She was safe."

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