But I hadn’t expected this, either.
“Put the scissors down.”
She did.
Then she told me I was being dramatic.
My mother appeared moments later.
Instead of asking whether I was all right, she began insisting we needed to calm down.
“Lyra, this is not the time for a confrontation.”
I looked at her.
“She damaged my wedding dress.”
Renée folded her arms.
“I barely touched it.”
My mother sighed.
“Your sister has been under a lot of stress.”
I felt something inside me finally give way.
“Mom, look at the dress.”
She glanced toward it.
Then she looked back at me.
“We can figure something out. But you don’t need to make everyone uncomfortable.”
I stared at her.
For thirty-one years, I’d heard different versions of that sentence.
Don’t upset your sister.
Don’t make things difficult.
Be understanding.
Be the responsible one.
But standing there in my wedding suite, looking at the ruined gown I’d saved two years to buy, I could no longer pretend those expectations were harmless.
I turned toward Renée.
“Leave the room.”
She raised her eyebrows.
“Seriously?”
“Yes.”
My mother stepped forward.
“Lyra—”
“Both of you. Please.”
For once, I didn’t soften the request.
Renée walked out first.
My mother followed, looking deeply offended.
Then I closed the door.
The room was quiet.
I approached the gown.
I touched one of the handmade flowers.
The silk felt soft beneath my fingers.
I thought about the hours I’d worked.
The money I’d saved.
The day I’d stood in Elena’s studio and finally felt beautiful in a dress I’d chosen for myself.
Then I began crying.
Not loudly.
There was no dramatic collapse.
I simply sat on the small sofa beside the vanity and cried because something precious had been deliberately damaged, and my own mother had acted as though my reaction were the real problem.
Nadine found me a few minutes later.
She stepped into the room and stopped when she saw the gown.
She looked at the fabric.
Then at the scissors resting on the windowsill.
Finally, she looked at me.
“Lyra?”
I tried to answer.
Nothing came out.
She crossed the room and sat beside me.
She didn’t ask whether I was overreacting.
She didn’t tell me to calm down.
She simply took my hands.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
That was all.
And somehow, those two words made me cry harder.
For several minutes, she stayed with me.
Then she asked what had happened.
I told her.
I explained that I’d found Renée beside the dress and that she’d admitted taking the scissors to it.
I told Nadine what my mother had said.
She listened.
Her expression became serious.
Then she stood and walked toward the gown.
She examined the damage carefully.
“I don’t think this can be repaired before four,” she said.
I nodded.
“I know.”
She looked toward the clock.
It was still before noon.
Then she took a breath.
“Lyra, I need to ask you something.”
I wiped my eyes.
“What?”
“Would you be willing to wear a different dress today?”
I stared at her.
“I don’t have another wedding dress.”
“I know.”
She looked toward the adjoining room.
“But I brought something.”
I remembered the long garment bag she’d carried in earlier.
She must have seen the realization on my face because she smiled gently.
“I wasn’t certain you’d need it. I hoped you wouldn’t.”
I looked at her.
“Nadine, what did you bring?”
She walked into the next room.
A moment later, she returned carrying the garment bag.
She laid it carefully across the bed.
Then she began opening the zipper.
Inside was the most extraordinary wedding gown I’d ever seen.
It was made of champagne-colored satin, with long sleeves, a softly structured bodice, and a sweeping train.
Tiny seed pearls traced the neckline and cuffs.
The fabric had the luminous richness of something carefully preserved for generations.
I stood slowly.
“Nadine.”
She smiled.
“This belonged to Callum’s grandmother, Ruth.”
I touched the edge of the sleeve.
“Her wedding dress?”
“Yes. She wore it in 1962.”
Nadine paused.
“And I wore it when I married Callum’s father in 1989.”
I looked at her.
She continued.
“Two years ago, I had it professionally restored. I thought one of the women in our family might want it someday.”
My eyes filled again.
This time, the feeling was different.
“I don’t understand. Why did you bring it?”