The only way it doesn't hurt

Part Five

“This?” I asked.

“Dis one, mom,” she said, proud and decisive.

“Oh, a very good choice.”

She clapped her hands.

Maya reappeared around the corner, arms full. “We’re trying these on. All of us. No excuses.”

And so we did—Maya insisting we make a proper event of it. Isla had her own miniature corner of the dressing room with a mirror barely taller than her. She twirled and twirled in the rose dress, her cheeks pink with delight, while Maya tried on a flowy green jumpsuit she called her “plant whisperer look,” and I slipped into the cardigan over a soft cotton dress that actually made me feel a little like myself again.

“See?” Maya said, snapping a picture of Isla mid-spin. “Look at this angel. We need to frame this moment.”

I laughed so freely, so easily, I forgot how heavy my chest had felt the last few days.

We picked out a few things—nothing extravagant, just enough to call it an afternoon well-spent. Isla clutched a small wooden duck toy on the way out, hugging it to her chest like it was treasure.

“You look lighter,” she said.

“Because you made me try on ten sweaters?”

“No,” she replied, smiling. “Because you let yourself have a day.”

I looked down at Isla, toddling between us with her new toy clutched tight, and nodded.

Maybe I did.

I had just reached for a plum-colored linen dress when I felt a jolt against my back. Not harsh, just enough to make me stumble half a step.

“Oh my God! I’m so sorry!”

I turned to see a girl—maybe mid-twenties, long auburn hair, flushed cheeks, oversized cardigan half falling off one shoulder—her hands outstretched as if to catch me mid-sway.

She looked like a splash of caffeine in human form.

“No worries,” I said with a small laugh, steadying myself.

“I didn’t see you—I was eyeing those earrings over there and just zoomed.” She winced, hands clasped. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, really.”

Before I could say more, Maya rounded the corner, Isla on her hip. “Hey! You good?” Her eyes darted to me, then to the girl beside me.

“I’m good—just bumped,” I said.

Maya’s gaze flickered again, then widened. “Wait—Leah?”

The girl blinked, then lit up. “Maya!”

They both leaned in for a quick hug, grinning.

“You know each other?” I asked, eyebrows raised.

“Oh yeah,” Maya said, already laughing, “Leah’s part of the gallery team I mentioned—the one from London.”

“I didn’t know you’d be here today,” Leah said, eyes bright. “Oh my god—are you… you’re Amelia, aren’t you?”

I blinked. “Um. Yes?”

Her expression did something between fangirl awe and delighted panic. “I can’t believe this! I’ve been in love with your work—your forest creatures, your garden girls, that fox with the green scarf? I literally have that one pinned to my moodboard. You’re you!”

I laughed, cheeks warm. “That’s very kind of you.”

“She was dying to meet you yesterday,” Maya said, nudging me.