The week after the white silk line sold out, the boutique settled into its usual rhythm. Orders were still coming in steadily, but the loud rush had softened into a calmer flow, the kind that didn’t have us checking the numbers every few hours. I liked it better that way. The hum of the sewing machines, the soft scrape of fabric scissors on the cutting tables, the gentle sound of pages turning in the design books on the shelves. The air felt steady.

Yet, steadiness in the space didn’t ...