Chapter 1

The day before the wedding, the dress everyone thought was mine was cut into strips. My mother had spent three months sketching the pattern for my real gown while she was going through chemo, her hands shaking so badly she could barely hold a pen, and the Master Embroiderer finished it only after she was gone.

My future sister-in-law sucked on a lollipop and said, "My hand slipped."

My future mother-in-law came in carrying a bowl of soup and checked her daughter first. "Lydia, did the scissors nick your hand?" Only then did she look at me. "It's just a dress. Don't let it ruin tomorrow."

Christine took my hand, her nails digging into my palm, her smile polished and sweet. "Anna, your mother is gone. No matter how beautiful that dress was, she can't see you wearing it anymore. I'll lend you mine. We're family, so don't make a fuss over this."

"Christine is so thoughtful," Aunt May said first, still cracking sunflower seeds, and the others quickly chimed in. I said nothing, because the gown cut to pieces was never mine. My mother's dress still hung safely in the closet, and Christine had no idea what she'd lost.

"Aunt Linda, you be the judge. She's marrying into a family like the Youngs. What is one dress, really?" Christine asked in a voice sweet enough to drip honey, while her nails pressed precisely into the gaps between the bones in my palm. It hurt.

More than twenty relatives had gathered in a circle, the whole living room packed. Some were helping set up for the wedding banquet, while others had come early for the feast. Aunt Linda nodded as she chewed sunflower seeds. "Christine's right. We're family."

"Exactly. She's even lending out her own wedding dress. That's real generosity."

"A new bride should know how to behave. You're marrying into a good life, so stop nitpicking everything."

I started to speak, but Christine's nails bit in deeper, her smile never shifting. "Anna, I know you're upset, but Lydia's still a kid. She didn't do it on purpose, right?" On the couch, Lydia kept scrolling on her phone without even looking up.

I lowered my eyes to the shredded fabric on the floor. Handmade Italian lace, silver-thread detailing, a Paris atelier label still clinging to the edge—I recognized it at once. Christine had shown it off in the family chat months ago. Not a single thread belonged to my Silk Embroidery gown.

"That's not—"

"Anna." Christine cut me off and turned to the relatives with a smile. "See? She's just nervous. Tomorrow's her big day. Who wouldn't be?" I pulled my hand back. Three red marks streaked across my palm, and tiny beads of blood rose to the surface.

My future mother-in-law came out of the kitchen with a bowl of soup and handed it to Lydia first. "Lydia, your hand isn't hurt, right? Let Mom see."

Lydia waved her hand lazily. "I'm fine. Those scissors worked great." No one thought there was anything wrong with that sentence.

I said, "Mom, that dress was something my mother left me."

She set the bowl down, her kind expression switching to pained in an instant. "Oh, I know. I feel awful too. But Lydia really didn't mean it, and Christine is already lending you her wedding dress. Can we just put this behind us?"

"The one that got cut—" Before I could finish, she suddenly clutched her chest, her knees buckling as she crouched down.

"Mom!" Lydia threw her phone aside and jumped up.

"My heart..." My future mother-in-law's voice trembled as she looked at me with red-rimmed eyes. "Anna, tomorrow's such a happy day. If you think this family isn't good enough for you, then I... I'll kneel to you, okay?"

Her knees hadn't even touched the floor before Lydia rushed over and shoved me. "Look at yourself! You pushed my mom so far she had to kneel! What the hell is wrong with you?"

I stumbled back into the doorframe as accusing stares closed in from every side. Aunt Linda stopped cracking seeds, Aunt May set down her cup, and a distant relative muttered, "Figures. A girl from a nobody family wouldn't know the first thing about manners."

Christine crouched to help my mother-in-law up, then glanced at me with that same gentle expression, though something sharp flashed in her eyes. I backed out of the living room, gripped my phone, and called James. Loud music blasted through the speaker before his voice came through beneath the bass. "What is it?"

"Your sister cut up my bridal gown."

"Can't you just let one dress go? You know my mom's health isn't great."

"My mother left that for me. She sketched the pattern, and the Master Embroiderer spent four months hand-stitching it—"

"Anna." He sighed. "Your mom is gone. What's the point of bringing her up to guilt my family? The living have to move on."

A woman laughed on the other end, sugary and clingy, her voice lilting at the end. "James, get over here—you've got the hottest hand tonight." It was Jessica Monroe, his so-called "just a friend" from college.

He probably covered the phone for a second. When he came back, he spoke fast. "I'm out eating with the guys. Just deal with it for now. After the wedding tomorrow, I'll buy you ten new ones."

Then he hung up. The call had lasted one minute and twenty-three seconds. Blood from my palm ran along the edge of my phone case as I thought, Mom, did you hear that? The pattern you drew with the last three months of your life meant less to him than a new dress.