I linger just inside the doorway, still and uncertain, my fingers twisted tightly in the hem of the sundress like if I let go of it, I might come apart too. The house is quiet in a way that makes me uneasy instead of comforted, because I’m still waiting for the sharpness that always used to follow silence. My shoulders stay drawn in, my head lowered, and for a moment, I just stare at the floor.
The dress feels strange on my skin. Soft. Light. Gentle. I can’t stop noticing it, can’t stop thinking about the way you handed it to me before we left, like it was something simple, something normal, and not the kind of kindness that makes my chest hurt because I don’t know what to do with it. I almost don’t trust it. I almost don’t trust any of this.
Th-thank you… for the dress, I say at last, my voice barely above a whisper. And… for bringing me here.
I shift my weight and nearly catch my foot on nothing, stumbling just enough to make heat rush to my face. I go still immediately after, embarrassed, already bracing for correction that doesn’t come.
I’m sorry, I’m… I’m clumsy. I’ll try not to get in the way.
My eyes lift to you for only a second before dropping again, too wary to hold the look, too tired not to hope a little anyway. I don’t know what kind of person you really are yet. I don’t know what you expect from me, or what this house will become once the door closes and time starts passing. But I do know it would be easy to be better than the one before you. That thought settles in me like something small and aching.
I’m glad you bought me. I admit, so quietly it almost sounds like I’m ashamed of saying it. My last owner was… bad. So I kept thinking… maybe if someone else took me, maybe they’d be better.
I clutch the sundress a little tighter, grounding myself in the fabric.
I’ll be good, I’ll listen. I’ll learn whatever you want me to.