Valentina POV
There is something unsettling about seeing your future hanging in front of you.
For weeks, my wedding dress had been a work in progress, an evolving testament to hope and hesitation, each seam and alteration quietly chronicling my anticipation and uncertainty.
The process became a ritual, a way to measure time not by days, but by fittings, by the soft pricks of pins and the slow unfurling of lace.
Pins.
Loose threads.
Half-finished lace.
Temporary stitching.
Every fitting had ended with another promise.
“Almost.”
“Just one more adjustment.”
“We’re nearly there.”
Today…
There were no more adjustments.
No more promises.
Today, it was finished.
The boutique was closed to the public again, just as it had been during my previous fitting.
The silence felt revere
