I walked slowly among the racks, my fingers brushing the fabrics as if they could speak back to me. Each piece carried a memory, a moment I had survived, and a part of myself I had reclaimed. Julian stayed close, silently steady, letting me lead the way.

Simone leaned closer to examine a delicate embroidery. “This one,” she said, “it feels like it’s alive. Like it’s telling a story all on its own.”

I smiled, nodding. “It is. Every stitch was stitched with a thought, an emotion, ...