turned to see David leaning against the bedroom doorframe, his tie undone, looking devastatingly handsome and visibly anxious. I had just pulled the garment bag from the depths of our closet—the place where we kept the things too precious or too painful to look at every day.

“Everyone there is going to be wearing… you know,” he gestured vaguely, his hands trying to shape the concept of modern luxury. “The latest season. Gucci. Prada. I could take some money out of savings. We could get you something new. Something that shines.”

I unzipped the bag. The fabric slid out like liquid midnight—a black silk crepe dress, cut with a simplicity that bordered on austerity. There were no sequins to catch the light, no logos to scream a brand name, no lace to distract the eye. Just a perfect, fluid silhouette that seemed to hold its own gravity.