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.
