Page 62 of Small Town Sash

"Or a phenomenal designer," Hadley quipped, admiring the simple elegance of the dress in the mirror. It felt like a second skin—her skin, not the pageant's.

"Phenomenal is right," Candace agreed, standing back to appraise her work. "You're going to slay out there."

"Or at least glide gracefully," Hadley chuckled, slipping into a pair of beige heels.

"Both," Candace confirmed, giving her a reassuring squeeze. "Now go show them how it's done."

"Thank you for helping me get this dress just right," she told her friend as she reached out and squeezed her hands.

"You did this. It was all you. I just helped stitch it together," Candace reminded her.

Hadley took her place behind the curtains. The announcer's voice boomed, "Next up, Miss Hadley Wilder."

"Showtime," she murmured, stepping out.

Gasps filled the room, a sea of faces illuminated by the stage lights. The gown shimmered with each step she took, the fabric flowing behind her like a trail of liquid moonlight. Her stride was unhurried, serene, and yet it carried the quiet strength of a woman who knew her worth.

"Stunning," Braden mouthed, while the other two judges simply nodded, lost for words.

"Simple and elegant," a voice echoed from the back row, encapsulating Hadley's essence in three words.

"Exactly," Hadley thought, reaching the end of the runway and pausing for a beat. Her gaze swept across the audience, a silent conversation. This was her design, her moment, her future.

"Thank you," she said softly, more to herself than anyone else, as she turned and walked back, the cream silk trailing behind her, a banner of newfound freedom.

At last, it was time. The final question. Hadley's heels clicked against the stage, each step a measured beat as she approached the microphone. A spotlight pinned her in place, and she couldfeel the weight of every eye in the audience. Her heart hummed a nervous tune, but her smile never wavered.

"Miss Wilder," Randy, the head judge began, leaning forward with an expectant gleam in his eyes. "Tell us, what does true beauty mean to you?"

A loaded question. Old Hadley might have spun a sugary response, all frosting and no cake, but not tonight.

She leaned into the microphone, her voice steady. "True beauty?" She paused, glancing out at the sea of faces. "It's laughing so hard your stomach hurts. It's kindness when no one's watching. It's being brave enough to be yourself, even when it's easier to fit in."

The crowd hushed, hanging on her words.

"True beauty is this dress," she continued, gesturing to the cream silk hugging her frame. "Because I made it. Not just to wear but to embody who I am. No frills, no fluff—just me."

Laughter rippled through the audience. She'd hit the mark, struck a chord.

"Thank you, Miss Wilder," the judge said, visibly impressed.

"Thank you," Hadley replied, her blue eyes shining with mischief. "And remember, calories don't count if you eat them standing up."

The auditorium erupted, a crescendo of cheers and applause that rolled over her like a warm wave. As she walked offstage, a genuine grin broke free. Who was this girl? She liked her.

Backstage, tension buzzed like static. Girls fretted and preened, but Hadley found a quiet corner, closing her eyes as she prepared to go back out with the rest of the women.

As they lined the stage, she could almost hear her own heartbeat, a drumroll to the moment they'd announce the winner.

"And the crown and title of 'Miss Hero Texas' goes to..." The host's voice boomed, stretching the silence. "Miss Hadley Wilder."

Shock froze her for a split second before joy thawed her into motion. She floated toward the stage, disbelief and pride warring for space within her chest.

"Look at her go," someone whispered, awe coloring the tone. "Like she owns the world."

"Because she does," another voice chimed in.

The hot pink sash settled across her shoulder, the crown perched atop her black hair—a glittering halo. This wasn't just a victory walk; it was a parade of self-acceptance.