W noc przed moimi 50. urodzinami mój zmarły ojciec ukazał mi się we śnie. Stanął w drzwiach mojego pokoju w Atlancie w szarym swetrze, który mu wydziergałam, i powiedział trzy razy: „Liv, nie zakładaj sukienki po mężu”. Niecałe 24 godziny później byłam w szpitalnym laboratorium, wpatrując się w biały proszek, który właśnie wycięłam z tej szmaragdowej sukni, podczas gdy moja przyjaciółka w białym fartuchu powiedziała mi, że to trucizna kontaktowa, która „wyglądałaby jak problem z sercem na twojej imprezie

I swallowed.

“I’ll wear your dress,” I said quietly. “Of course.”

His expression smoothed out almost instantly. He smiled again.

“That’s my girl,” he said lightly. “You’ll see. Everyone will be amazed.”

He swung his legs off the bed and headed toward the bathroom. The sound of running water a moment later filled the room.

I sat there, knees drawn up under my chin, staring at the indent his body had left in the sheets.

What is wrong with me?

He’d gone out of his way to do something special. I was reacting like a child who’d been told what to wear to school.

I pushed myself out of bed and went to the kitchen, busying my hands with breakfast—eggs, toast, coffee. The familiar rhythm of cracking shells, whisking, flipping, helped a little.

Mark came out dressed for work, smelling of his usual cologne, hair neatly combed.

“I’m running into the office for a bit today,” he said, pouring himself coffee. “Need to sign a couple of documents. I’ll be back by lunchtime. What are you up to?”

“I’ll call Nikki,” I said, stirring the omelet. “Then I need to keep getting things ready. By the way, Ms. Reed promised to drop off the dress today for the final adjustments.”

“Perfect.” He sat at the table and dug into his breakfast. “So, you’ll try it on this evening, and tomorrow everything will be just right.”

We ate mostly in silence. He scrolled the news on his phone, making small comments about traffic, gas prices, politics. I nodded at the right moments, but my mind felt like it was somewhere else, hovering above the house.

After breakfast, he kissed my cheek, grabbed his keys, and left. The front door closed with a soft but definite click.

For a few seconds, I just stood in the hallway, listening to the sudden hush.

Then the quiet pressed in.

I moved through the rooms, straightening curtains that didn’t need straightening, wiping away dust that wasn’t there. Every movement felt automatic.

The same thought circled relentlessly: the dress. Dad’s warning. The dress.

My phone rang, jolting me.

EVELYN REED flashed on the screen.

“Mrs. Sutton, good morning. It’s Evelyn Reed,” came the cheerful voice. “I’m just about to head your way. The dress is ready. Is now a good time?”

“Yes, yes, of course,” I said quickly, glancing at the clock. “Come on over.”

“Wonderful. I’ll be there in about half an hour.”

I ended the call and sank onto the sofa.

The dress was coming.

The very dress my father had told me not to wear.

What was I supposed to do? Tell Evelyn I changed my mind because my late father visited me in a dream and gave me fashion advice? Refuse my husband’s gift with no explanation?

I pressed my palms together between my knees.

I needed to hear a familiar voice.

I called my daughter.

“Mom!” Nikki answered on the second ring. Her voice was bright, warm, with the faint background noise of cartoons and clattering dishes. “How are you feeling? A little nervous yet?”

“A little,” I admitted. “Is everything all set at Magnolia Grill?”

“Mom,” she groaned playfully, “I’ve told you a hundred times. Everything is great. The table’s set, the cake is ordered, the band confirmed. All you have to do is show up, look incredible, and accept people telling you how young you look. Did you try on the dress, by the way?”

“Not yet,” I said, my fingers tightening around the phone. “She’s bringing it today.”

“Oh, I can’t wait to see it. Dad was raving about it. Says it’s stunning. By the way, little Mikey is all worked up. He told everyone at his preschool that his grandma is having a big party.” She laughed.

I pictured my four-year-old grandson, cheeks flushed, animatedly talking about balloons and cake. The thought softened something in me.

“Tell him Grandma can’t wait to see him,” I said, smiling despite myself.

We talked about small things: what time they’d leave, whether they should bring anything else, how work was going. Nikki had no idea that my heartbeat was hammering the entire time.

When we hung up, the house felt even quieter than before.

Exactly thirty minutes later, the doorbell rang.

I opened the door to see a woman in her late forties standing on the porch, a large garment bag resting over one arm. She wore jeans, a navy blouse, and a soft, professional smile.

“Hello, Mrs. Sutton,” she said. “I brought your beautiful gown. I hemmed the bottom as you asked and adjusted the darts. I think it fits perfectly now.”

“Thank you so much,” I said, stepping aside. “Come in.”

I led her to the bedroom. She unzipped the garment bag carefully and lifted the dress out.

It was even more beautiful than I remembered. The emerald fabric caught the light and glowed. The seams were clean. The lining looked smooth and expensive.

“Please try it on,” Ms. Reed said. “I’ll just check that everything is just right.”

I stepped behind the folding screen, peeled off my casual clothes, and slipped into the dress. The zipper went up with no resistance. The fabric hugged my shoulders and waist, sliding over my hips without pulling.

I stepped out.

“Oh,” Ms. Reed breathed, clapping her hands lightly. “It looks wonderful on you. Look at that waist, that posture. You are going to be the star of the party.”

I studied my reflection.

An elegant woman in a luxurious dress looked back at me. My brown hair, freshly colored, framed my face. The green made my eyes seem brighter. The cut smoothed what needed smoothing and emphasized what I still liked about my body at fifty.

By all logic, I should have felt confident.

Instead, unease crawled beneath my skin.

Something’s wrong.

I ran my hands slowly over the fabric: the hem, the waist, the sleeves. Everything felt fine. Normal. Solid.

“The lining is natural silk,” Ms. Reed said proudly, stepping closer to point out the invisible stitches. “Your husband insisted that everything be made from the finest materials. And he asked for hidden pockets in the side seams here, in case you want to put your phone or a tissue in there.”

“That was thoughtful,” I said faintly.

She couldn’t see the storm building inside me.

Maybe I really am just being ridiculous.

“I think everything is excellent,” she said, stepping back. “If you have no questions, I should run. I have another client waiting across town.”

“No questions,” I said. “Thank you again. It’s beautiful.”

I changed back into my regular clothes, walked her to the front door, and thanked her once more.

When the door clicked shut, the house exhaled.

I carried the dress to the closet, hung it on a padded hanger, and stood there staring at it.

Beautiful. Expensive. Sewn with care.

Or not.

Don’t wear the dress from your husband.

My father’s voice felt less like a memory and more like a warning echoing in the walls.

I closed the closet door and sat on the edge of the bed, pressing my fingers into the quilt.

Tomorrow was the party.

Tonight, I still had a choice.

Mark came home for lunch right on time. I heard the front door open, his familiar footsteps in the hallway, the dull thud of his shoes as he kicked them off.

“Well, did the dress arrive?” he called out.

“Yes,” I answered, trying to sound casual. “Everything’s fine.”

He stepped into the kitchen, leaned down to kiss the top of my head, and sat across from me at the table.

“Did you try it on?”

“Mm-hm,” I said, lifting my cup of tea. “Ms. Reed said it fits perfectly.”

“That’s great,” he said, nodding with satisfaction. “You’ll be stunning tomorrow. Listen, I have to run over to see my friend Kevin this evening. He’s dropping off some documents for the deal. Probably a few hours. You don’t mind, do you?”

“No,” I said. “Go ahead.”

He ate, watched a bit of TV in the living room, and then got ready to head out again.

“Don’t overthink things,” he said at the door, giving me a quick kiss. “Tomorrow’s going to be amazing.”

“Drive safe,” I replied.

When the door closed and the lock clicked, I felt my shoulders drop in a way I hadn’t realized they were raised.

I walked straight to the bedroom.