Chapter 17 - The First and Last Dance
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Two weeks later.
I stood in the center of an empty warehouse on the outskirts of the industrial district. The concrete floor was dusty, and the high windows let in long shafts of afternoon sunlight.
This was where my father’s business had started twenty years ago, before Richard Whitmore forced him into a predatory buyout.
I was wearing simple blue jeans and an old sweater. My hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail.
Tessa walked into the warehouse, carrying a large cardboard box. She set it down on a wooden workbench near the center of the room.
"The police returned your personal belongings from the Whitmore estate," Tessa said gently.
I walked over to the box and looked inside. At the top of the pile was the wedding dress.
It had been sealed in a clear plastic evidence bag by the forensic team, but the stain was still there—now dried into a dull, dark gray crust across the front of the silk.
I reached into the box and pulled the heavy gown out. I held it up against the light.
"Are you going to burn it?" Tessa asked softly, watching my face closely.
I looked at the pearl buttons, the hand-sewn sleeves, and the dark mark left by Eleanor's hatred.
"No," I said, a slow, quiet smile spreading across my face. "I'm going to frame it."
May you like
Tessa blinked, surprised. "Frame it?"
"It's a reminder, Tessa," I said, folding the dress carefully. "A reminder that nobody can ever make me feel small again unless I let them."
