I kept my prom dress in the attic because I promised to marry the boy I loved before he left for Vietnam. Fifty-five years after the Army declared him missing, he knocked on my door. We finally married—but what he confessed on our wedding night made me question my own family forever.
The oldest thing in my house wasn’t the antique piano in the living room.
Or the quilt my grandmother stitched by hand.
It was a simple ivory prom dress hanging inside a garment bag in the attic.
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