The Honest Hem

Elena had altered wedding dresses for fifteen years. Silk did not move on its own. But when June promised her mother there would be no outdoor ceremony, the hem slid two inches toward the floor. Elena lifted a pin. The fabric relaxed. June's mother, watching from the mirror, asked whether the garden deposit was refundable. June said the garden had never been booked. Under the layered skirt, fresh stitches pulled tight around her ankles. Elena reached for her shears, but June caught her wrist. "Ask me about Daniel," the bride whispered.