I stared at the closet door for a full minute before I gathered the courage to touch the handle. My hand hovered, trembling, the brass knob cool against my clammy skin.Don’t make me come get you.I recalled.I pulled the door open.I expected it to be empty, or perhaps filled with my own pathetic, thrift-store wardrobe that the movers had packed. But my boxes were still taped shut on the floor behind me.The closet was full.Rows of hangers stretched across the cedar-lined space. Coats, blouses, skirts. All of them high-end. All of them in a palette of blacks, grays, and deep blood reds.And hanging in the center, displayed like a museum piece, was a dress.It was black silk, suspended on straps no thicker than fishing line. It was the kind of dress that looked like it would pool on the floor like ink if you dropped it. No zippers, no buttons. Just a slip of fabric designed to cling to every insecurity I had.I reached out and touched the hem. It was soft, and looks obscenely expensi
Huling Na-update : 2026-01-08 Magbasa pa