I should have known the party wasn’t a good idea. Trudy was thrilled when she got the invite, but when I saw the price of the dresses at Fontaine, I nearly laughed. They cost more than I’d saved all month. So, I made her a dress myself, staying up all night to sew something beautiful.

At the party, the other kids were in designer clothes, and when they saw Trudy’s dress, whispers filled the air. “Her mom probably made it,” one girl scoffed. Trudy’s face fell, and she ran off, trying to escape the mockery. As she ran, she collided with a limousine parked outside. The driver stepped out, and a man emerged. I gasped—It was Joe, my husband, whom I thought was dead.

“Joe?” I whispered, stunned.

He smiled, his face full of disbelief. “Maddy? Trudy?” he said, and we embraced. After a mining accident, he’d been misidentified as dead due to amnesia. He’d spent years trying to find us.

We went inside the party, but the whispers didn’t stop. One man sneered, “Some people don’t know how to dress their kids.” Joe turned, his voice strong. “Our daughter may not wear fancy clothes, but she’s kind and respectful. It’s people with souls as poor as yours who are beyond help.”

The room fell silent. That night, Joe took us to his new home, where he promised to make up for the lost years. For the first time in years, I felt like we were finally home.