And she laughed.
“Oh my God,” she said loudly to the parents nearby. “Did you actually make that?”
I nodded.
“Yes.”
She examined the dress like she was inspecting something unpleasant.
“You know,” she said sweetly, “there are families who could give her a real life. Maybe you should think about adoption.”
The gym went silent.
Melissa’s hand tightened around mine.
I was still deciding how to respond when her son tugged on her sleeve.
“Mom,” he said.
She waved him away.
“Not now.”
“But Mom,” he said louder, pointing at Melissa’s dress. “That looks like the silk handkerchiefs Dad buys for Miss Tammy.”
The room froze.
Brian kept talking.
“He brings them from the shop near the mall. Miss Tammy says they’re her favorite.”
People started whispering.
The woman slowly turned toward her husband.
Her smile vanished.
“Brian,” the man muttered. “Stop talking.”
But kids don’t stop once they start.
Brian pointed toward the entrance.
“There she is! Miss Tammy!”
Everyone turned.
A young woman had just walked into the gym, clearly confused by the sudden attention.
Brian’s mother marched over to her.
“Tammy,” she said sharply. “Have you been receiving gifts from my husband?”
Tammy hesitated.
Then she sighed.
“Yes.”
The whispers grew louder.
Within minutes the woman who had mocked us was dragging her husband out of the gym while demanding explanations.
Melissa looked up at me.
“Daddy?”
