Bia held the white box like a baby.

Her mother opened it slowly. Inside, under blue paper, there was a dress.

The wedding dress.

"Your father bought this fabric," her mother said. "The best fabric in the store. I made every stitch with these hands. For my wedding."

The dress was simple. White, long, quiet. It smelled of time.

Bia touched it. The fabric was soft and heavy, like water.

"Now it is yours," her mother said. "But you are small, and I was not. We need to work."

She took the measuring tape and smiled.

"Your father said it every day, in the store. First you measure. Then you cut."

The wedding was in one month.

Bia looked at the dress and felt happy.

Almost happy.

Almost.