The rest of the morning passed in a kind of calm focus that I hadn’t felt in weeks. I pulled a fresh stack of muslin onto the worktable, smoothed it flat with the palm of my hand, and began making notes. No fanfare. No new silhouettes. Just the same lines I had once drawn for myself, now with the weight of years in my hands.

I decided it would be white silk. Not cream, not ivory — pure white. The kind of white that feels almost alive under light, that picks up warmth from skin and shadow ...