Chapter 7
When I entered the library, Lily was sitting on the sofa beside Mrs. Carter.
She had a cookie in one hand and a picture book in the other.
She looked up.
“Daddy!”
I crossed the room and sat beside her.
“Hi, sweetheart.”
She studied my face.
“Have you been crying?”
“A little.”
“Because you’re sad?”
I nodded.
“And because I’m remembering Mommy.”
Lily put down her cookie.
“I remember Mommy too.”
She leaned against my chest.
“She used to sing the princess song.”
I closed my eyes.
Nora had made up a silly song about a princess who refused to wear a crown because it gave her a headache.
Lily had insisted on hearing it every night.
I hadn’t thought about that song in years.
Grandma entered carrying a small wooden box.
It was painted pale blue, with tiny white flowers along the edges.
I recognized it.
Nora had kept it on a shelf in our bedroom.
After she died, I searched for it but couldn’t find it.
Grandma set the box on the coffee table.
“Your mommy asked me to keep this safe,” she told Lily.
My daughter immediately sat up.
“Mommy’s box?”
Grandma nodded.
Lily carefully opened the lid.
Inside was a photograph of Nora holding her as a baby.
Beneath it rested a silver bracelet with a tiny star.
There was also a folded piece of paper.
And a small fabric pouch.
Lily opened the pouch first.
Inside was a silver charm shaped like a crown.
She smiled.
“A princess crown!”
Grandma gently unfolded the paper.
“Your mommy wrote you a letter, sweetheart. Would you like Daddy to read it?”
Lily nodded eagerly.
I took the page.
My hands were trembling.
My beautiful Lily,
If you’re reading this, I hope you know that you were the greatest gift your daddy and I ever received.
You don’t need a crown to be a princess. You don’t need an expensive dress to be beautiful. And you don’t need to be wealthy to be important.
Be kind when others are unkind. Be brave when you’re frightened. And remember that the people who truly love you will never make you feel small.
Whenever you wear your little crown, remember that your mommy loves you more than all the stars in the sky.
Love always, Mommy.
I couldn’t finish the last word without crying.
Lily wrapped her arms around my neck.
“It’s okay, Daddy.”
I held her tightly.
Then she reached into the box again.
At the very bottom was a photograph.
It showed Nora sitting at our kitchen table, sewing a navy-blue dress.
I stared at it.
The same navy-blue dress Lily was wearing.
“Grandma?”
She smiled through her tears.
“Nora made it herself.”
I looked down at Lily’s dress.
The careful stitching.
The little bow.
The neatly sewn hem.
I remembered Nora working late one evening with fabric spread across our kitchen table.
She had told me she was making something special.
After she died, I found the dress in a sealed garment bag among her belongings.
I’d saved it until Lily was old enough to wear it.
That morning, when Lily chose the dress, I had told her Mommy made it.
But I hadn’t known about the photograph.
Or the letter.
Grandma touched the fabric gently.
“Nora asked me to give Lily the bracelet and the letter when she turned seven. I think tonight is the right time.”
Lily looked down at herself.
“Mommy made my dress.”
“Yes, sweetheart.”
She stroked the fabric with her little fingers.
Then she smiled.
“That’s why it’s my favorite.”
And suddenly, the entire evening felt overwhelming.
My sister had mocked a dress sewn by a mother for the daughter she would never see grow up.
My parents had laughed at a child wearing one of the few things she still had from her mommy.
They hadn’t merely criticized an inexpensive outfit.
They had made my daughter feel ashamed of something created with love.
I hugged Lily so tightly that she giggled.
“Daddy, you’re squishing me!”
I kissed her forehead.
“I’m sorry, princess.”
She held up the silver crown.
“Can I wear this with my dress?”
I smiled.
“Of course.”
Then she asked a question I will remember for the rest of my life.
“Do you think Mommy knows I love it?”
May you like
I kissed her again.
“Sweetheart, I think she always knew.”
