“Your family is planning dinner, right?” she asked, adjusting the coat rack next to me. “I think it’s time you did something just for yourself.”
The words rang heavy in the quiet room. I glanced at the price tag hanging from my sleeve: one hundred and forty dollars.
“The fitting room is over there,” she said, gently taking the hanger off the rail and pressing the silk into my hands.
In the small, curtained cubicle, the mirror was framed by warm yellow bulbs. I took off my denim jacket, unbuttoned my simple cotton shirt, and let my green dress slip over my head.
The silk was cool to the touch, hugging my skin tightly around my waist before falling in soft folds to my knees. For a moment, I didn’t recognize the woman in the mirror; she seemed taller, and her shoulders were straighter than they had been in years.
I ran my hands over my thighs, feeling the weight of the material.
I ran up the stairs, carrying a heavy box under my arm, my keys jangling against the brass lock.
The house smelled of morning coffee and old wood. I ran up the stairs to our bedroom, my heart rate increasing with each step.
I opened the heavy oak wardrobe, pushing aside Damon’s gray suits and my row of beige cardigans.
At the very end, behind a pile of winter blankets we hadn’t used in years, was a dark, narrow space where the floorboards met the wall.
I pushed the gray box into the corner and covered it with a woolen scarf.
If Damon found her, he’d ask why I had to draw attention to myself. His voice was calm and reasonable, while he himself gave the impression that the dress was a stupid mistake.
I slowly closed the closet door, making sure the latch clicked shut.
