ISLA
The dress had been in the wardrobe since I arrived.
I hadn’t put it there. Petra had, presumably.
It was exactly my size, exactly the kind of thing I would have chosen myself, a deep forest green with a neckline that was elegant without announcing itself.
I had looked at it several times over the past two weeks and moved past it every morning because there had been nowhere to wear it and putting it on just to take it off again felt like a particular kind of self-torment I didn’t need.
Tonight I lifted it off the hanger.
Held it at arm’s length.
Put it back.
Took it down again.
Then finally put it on.
The last time I had dressed up for someone was the induction night.
The champagne dress. The note: Wear this. Tonight changes everything.
I stood in front of my apartment m
