Her suspicion melted into a soft smile. “What do you need?”
I sighed dramatically, throwing my hands up for added effect. “I just want to stop looking like a sack of potatoes, Bee. Is that too much to ask?”
She laughed lightly, her eyes brightening. “I can help with that.”
And help she did. Bee had this uncanny ability to transform my plain, shapeless dresses into something entirely different. With a few deft moves—adding buttons, adjusting seams, and even introducing clever designs that allowed for easy removal—she turned my worn-out wardrobe into something a little more dignified.
It was bittersweet, knowing that these small improvements were, in part, in preparation for the treatment I feared would come. But for the moment, I focused on the positive. At least I’d look good while
