“Just the structure, dear. High-quality interfacing,” she dismissed, packing up her things. “You look stunning. Now, I must run.”

She left, and I was alone with the dress. I hung it on the closet door. It stared at me.

Don’t wear the dress.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I took the dress off the hanger and laid it on the bed. I turned on every lamp in the room. I ran my hands over the emerald silk, searching for… what? A loose thread? A bad omen?

My fingers snagged on something inside the lining near the left hip. A lump. Small, almost imperceptible, but there.

I frowned. Ms. Reed had said it was interfacing. But interfacing is flat. This felt granular.