The officer addressed me with a gentleness that made my throat tighten.
Inside were scholarship papers, housing arrangements, and a letter explaining the provisions Dad had made before his death.
I recognized his signature immediately. While I had spent years wondering how I would ever leave that house, he had already set things in motion.
I read slowly, holding the pages by their edges so my shaking hands wouldn’t crease them. Behind me, nobody said a word.
I thanked the officer and tucked the envelope into my purse. My stepmother started to ask something, but I told her I needed to get to prom.
Outside, I smoothed the skirt I had spent so many evenings sewing. The uniform’s fabric was heavier than satin, and one seam still puckered near my knee.
I left it alone. I wanted to wear my father’s uniform that night, and now I was ready to go.
