The Red That Wasn’t Worn
She knew the day too well. Her phone blinked with the weight of unsent words. She typed, erased, typed again. Nothing ever felt right. She thought of posting instead, of leaving behind some little trace of herself for the world to see. But she didn’t. Silence became her choice, though it sat heavy in her chest. Not a word, not a sign. Not even the color red. The day stretched on, long and restless. She had promised herself she wouldn’t go. It wasn’t her plan. Yet suddenly, her gut whispered: go. It was sharp, certain, stronger than the doubts that had kept her still. Before she could reason her way out of it, she was moving. Her closet waited. She pulled it open and the first thing her eyes found was the red dress. There it was hanging bold and alive, almost watching her. A piece of fabric that felt like a challenge, asking her if she dared to step into it. Her heart beat faster at the thought. Could she carry that color tonight? Could she bear the weight of its voice? She reached towa...