She returned a moment later, the dress hanging limply from one hand.
“Here you go,” she said, dangling it like it might fall apart. “Try not to snag it, please.”
I took it gently and walked to the fitting room. The lighting inside was cool-toned and unkind, casting pale shadows across my skin. I stood for a long moment, holding the dress against me before slipping it over my head.
As I adjusted the bodice, I could almost hear Paul’s voice teasing me playfully — asking if I was going to cry. I imagined Henry’s hands as he smoothed my scarf that morning, his eyes crinkling with that same smile he always gave me: the one that said, I see you, Marlene.
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