Mark entered the kitchen, kissed her on the top of her head, and sat down across from her.
“Did you try it on, hmm?”
“Ms. Reed said it fits perfectly.”
“That’s wonderful.” He nodded with satisfaction. “You’ll look amazing tomorrow.”
Then, as if it were the most normal thing in the world, he added, “Listen, I need to go see my friend Kevin this evening. He’s dropping off some documents for the deal. Probably just for about three hours. You don’t mind?”
“No, of course not,” Liv shrugged. “Go ahead.”
Mark had lunch, watched a bit of TV, then got ready and left. Liv walked him to the door, and when the lock clicked behind him, leaving her alone, she felt a peculiar sense of relief, like she could finally breathe.
She went into the bedroom and opened the closet. The dress hung there, calm and elegant. Liv reached out, running her fingers over the fabric.
What could possibly be wrong?
Maybe she just needed to look closer.
She lifted the dress from the hanger and laid it carefully on the bed. Sitting beside it, she inspected every seam, every stitch. Everything appeared flawless. Ms. Reed truly was a master of her craft. Straight seams, precise finishing, no loose threads or wrinkles anywhere.
Liv turned the dress over, examining the lining. The silk felt smooth beneath her fingers. She ran her hand along the inside and suddenly it seemed as though the fabric near the waist was slightly thicker than elsewhere.
Or was it just her imagination?
She stood, switched on the desk lamp, and held the dress closer to the light. She squinted. No, she hadn’t imagined it. Near the side seam at the waist, the lining had a small irregularity, as if something had been stitched inside.
Her heart skipped a beat.
Liv set the dress down and paced the room, clenching and unclenching her fists.
What absurd thoughts are creeping in? It’s probably just a double stitch or reinforcement to prevent stretching. Just ordinary tailoring.
But her father’s voice kept echoing in her mind.
Don’t wear the dress from your husband.
She returned to the bed, lifted the dress, and carefully examined the spot again. There was definitely something there, thin, sewn between the layers of fabric.
Her hands began to shake.
Liv sank onto the edge of the bed, clutching the dress to her chest.
What should she do? Cut the seam? If there was nothing, she’d ruin the seamstress’s work and would have to explain to Mark why she’d damaged his expensive gift.
But what if there really was something?
She closed her eyes, trying to steady herself. She remembered her father’s face from the dream, his serious expression, his voice, not a trace of doubt. He never spoke without reason. Even in life, whenever he’d warned her about something, he had always been right.
The decision came instinctively.
She stood, went to the dresser, and retrieved a small pair of sewing scissors from the top drawer. Returning to the bed, she switched on the bright lamp and spread the dress out inside out. She located the spot where she had felt the irregularity along the side seam near the waist, a place where no one would notice a slight thickening.
Liv took a deep breath, picked up the scissors, and carefully tugged at a single thread in the lining seam. She pulled. The thread gave way easily, leaving a small slit in the silk. She gently widened the opening, taking care not to damage the main fabric. Her fingers shook so violently she had to pause, setting down the scissors to regain control.
She resumed, the slit growing larger, and suddenly something pale spilled from it. Fine powder, dusting the dark bedspread.
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