Amelia stood in front of the mirror the next morning, her hands tugging gently at the soft cotton dress Nora had picked out for her. It was light blue, modest and freeing—nothing like the tight dresses she wore around Enzo. No one had told her she couldn’t wear things like this before. But somewhere along the way, her wardrobe had changed with her emotions. She used to wear what made her feel like herself. And then she started wearing what made her feel like someone he’d notice.
Her reflection blinked back at her, not quite familiar yet not a stranger either. There was a woman in her eyes again. A softness had returned. Not because the pain had left—but because she had stopped fighting the truth.
“Mia, come down for breakfast!” Nora called from downstairs.
She padded down the wooden ste
