My late husband’s mother had taught Wren to sew when she was young. Wren still had her old sewing machine, and occasionally begged me for fabric to make her own clothes.
“It’s cheaper than buying what’s fashionable at the store,” she’d say.
Wren’s brow furrowed as her hands moved across the uniform.
“I can turn this into a prom dress.” She looked at me. “But Mom, are you really okay with that?”
Honestly, part of me wasn’t. Being a police officer had meant everything to Matt, and his uniform was a reminder that he’d died doing a job that he believed in.
But my daughter was here; she needed this, and I knew that whatever she made out of Matt’s uniform would be beautiful.
“I can turn this into a prom dress.”
“Of course, I’m okay with you honoring your father.” I pulled her into a hug. “I can’t wait to see what you make.”
***
For the next two months, our house turned into a workshop.
