“Sweetheart, we could just buy one.”
“Mom, I know what I’m doing.”
She wasn’t worried.
“You said that right before you broke both arms.”
“Are you seriously going to hold that against me forever?”
“Probably until I’m ninety.”
Paige had fallen in love with sewing during her recovery, starting with simple pillowcases and eventually making her own clothes. But a wedding dress was another matter entirely.
“You broke both arms.”
She wasn’t worried.
Within a week, our spare room resembled a small clothing factory. There were sketches taped to the walls, lace draped over chairs, and enough fabric to dress a small army.
Colin found a sewing pin in his sock one morning.
“Is this part of the wedding planning?” he asked, hopping around the kitchen.
She adjusted the neckline.
“Consider it your first sacrifice as a husband,” Paige replied.
Over the following months, I watched my daughter turn rolls of fabric into something extraordinary.
