One evening, as the dress was nearly finished, Wren picked up the badge.
“I want it here,” she said, pressing it over her heart.
I hesitated. People might misunderstand. They might judge.
But she already knew that—and still chose it.
“I think that’s beautiful,” I said.
On prom night, when Wren walked downstairs, I couldn’t stop the tears.
The structure of the uniform remained, but it had been softened into something elegant. And over her heart—the badge.
When we entered the gym, people noticed.
Some stared. Some nodded.
Wren stood a little taller.
