The attic smelled like dust and old summers, sunlight filtering through the single narrow window, dust motes drifting like tiny ghosts.

You’d been avoiding this room since the funeral. Since everything. But today you couldn’t avoid it anymore.

Steve followed you up the creaky stairs without a word, one hand hovering near your back, not touching unless you needed him to. He always seemed to know when silence was better than comfort spoken aloud.

You pushed open an old wooden trunk, expecting more of your mother’s endless collection of holiday decorations. But instead, white fabric.

Soft, fragile, carefully folded.

Your breath caught.

Steve instantly noticed. “What is it?”

You didn’t speak. Couldn’t. You lifted the lid fully, fingers trembling as you pulled the dress out. It was yellowed slightly with age, but beautiful, lace sleeves, delicate buttons down the back, the kind of thing your mother used to describe when she thought you weren’t listening.

Steve’s expression softened instantly. “Oh,” he whispered. “Sweetheart…”

You held it against your chest like it might disappear if you let go.

“I didn’t know she kept it,” you whispered, voice cracking. “She never… she never talked about it much.”

Steve stepped closer, slow, giving you space to run or collapse. You didn’t. You just stared at the dress like it was a wound you hadn’t realized was still open.

“She would’ve wanted you to find it,” he said gently. “She kept it safe all these years.”

Your face crumpled. “I miss her,” you choked.

That was all it took, Steve wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest, the dress still clutched between you. His hand slid up your back, grounding, steady.

“I know,” he murmured into your hair. “I know, darling. I’m right here.”

You cried softly into his shirt, tears sinking into the fabric. He held you tighter, rubbing slow circles along your spine, the way he’d learned helped you breathe again.

After a long moment, Steve pulled back just enough to look at the dress.

“Do you want to keep it out?” he asked softly. “Maybe… take it with us when we’re done packing?”

You nodded, wiping your face. “Yeah. I think she’d like that.”

Steve smiled gently. “She’d love it.”

You let out a shaky laugh. “You didn’t even know her.”

He cupped your cheek with his thumb. “I know you. And if she made a person like you… she had to be incredible.”

Your eyes filled again, but this time it wasn’t as painful. More like warmth breaking through the heaviness.