On the first anniversary of the divorce filing, I found the navy dress at the back of my closet.

I had not worn it since the hearing.

I held it against myself and remembered the woman who sat with folded hands while strangers called her unfit.

She had looked calm from a distance.

Inside, she was trying not to fall apart.

I did not throw the dress away.

I took it to a tailor and had the hem shortened.

A month later I wore it to a dinner celebrating the completion of my first major audit project since returning to work.