The sweater slips lower on one shoulder and she does not yank it back into place. That is usually where people notice it first, in some tiny change she could deny if she felt like it.

The dress is not outrageous. It just fits. It has the kind of neckline her old self would have checked in every bathroom mirror. Tonight she leaves it alone. Someone says, “That’s different for you,” waiting for the nervous joke.

She only smiles and keeps walking. No cardigan pulled shut, no “I almost changed,” no apology tucked into the hem. The outfit is doing its job because she finally lets it.