*Lena*

“Abigail won’t mind, not one bit,” Heather grinned as she pulled a studded leather jacket from Abigail’s closet. She turned it around, holding the hanger as she ran her fingers over the leather. “You know how she is, always wanting us all to dress a certain way for these things.”

Heather wasn’t wrong. We’d been calling Abigail our pageant mom for years now, but tonight just didn’t feel the same without her.

I glanced in the ...