The fabric was terribly stiff and smelled faintly of damp cardboard.

I pulled on a pair of baggy khaki pants I’d been keeping for gardening, then stepped into the scuffed brown loafers.

They slipped off my heels with a soft slap when I walked over to the full-length mirror.

Margaret stood in the doorway with a ceramic cup of chamomile tea.

“Honey, it breaks my heart to see you standing there looking like this.”

“They’re just clothes, Margaret,” I said.