#mrsharold

Mrs. Harold told herself she was only trying on the dress.

Mrs. Sullivan told herself she was only helping.

Neither of them believed it.

There was something in the way Mrs. Sullivan touched the strap, careful but not casual. Something in the way Mrs. Harold looked back at her, smiling like she had been caught thinking something she was not ready to say out loud.

The dress was pretty.

Some afternoons do not announce themselves as important.

They begin with sunlight through linen curtains, the sound of the ocean outside, and two women laughing over dresses neither of them planned to care about.

But then a hand lingers at a shoulder strap.

A smile turns quieter.