The boutique was filled with soft chatter, women moving between racks of gowns, mothers and friends offering opinions with laughter. Isadora stepped inside alone, her heels clicking against the polished floor. She paused, scanning the room. Everywhere she looked, daughters leaned into mothers, friends clasped hands, voices rose in delight. The sight pressed against her chest. She had fought battles, built walls, but here she felt exposed.
She sat on a velvet chair near the fitting rooms, her phone in hand. For a moment she hesitated, her thumb hovering over the screen. Then she dialed. "Mother," she said when Emilia answered, her voice carrying a tremor she couldn't hide. "I'm at a wedding dress boutique."
