“Here, this should do,” Abigail strutted into my bedroom with clacking heels, holding up a charcoal sleeveless drop-waist dress on a hanger.

She was already dressed, of course, donned in a simple tailored maroon dress that sharpened her silhouette. Her raven black hair was swept into an elegant braid and adorned with white-jade clips.

I was still barefoot in front of the mirror, hair curled and pinned halfway up, mascara wand in hand, and blinking at my own reflection like I didn’t ...