Part 2: 

“I’d rather wear something made with love than something bought using money stolen from kids.”

The hallway fell silent.

Carla’s eyes darkened instantly.

“Get out of my sight before I say what I really think.”

But I wore the dress anyway.

On prom night, Noah helped zip the back while his hands shook.

“If anyone laughs,” he muttered, “I’m haunting them.”

I laughed softly. “Deal.”

Meanwhile, Carla insisted on coming because she wanted to “watch the disaster in person.”

I even overheard her telling someone on the phone, “Come early. You need to see this.”

But when we arrived, nobody laughed.

People stared at the dress, but not in a mocking way.

One girl asked, “Wait… is that denim?”

Another said, “Where did you buy that?”

A teacher touched the fabric and whispered, “This is beautiful.”

Still, I stayed tense. Carla kept watching me like she was waiting for me to fall apart publicly.

Later during the student showcase, the principal stepped onto the stage to make announcements.

Halfway through speaking, his attention shifted toward the back of the room.

Toward Carla.

He narrowed his eyes slightly.

“Can someone zoom the camera toward the woman in the back row?”

The projection screen lit up with Carla’s face.

At first, she smiled like she thought she was about to be included in some sweet parent moment.