"Not for me," Naomi whispered. "It wasn't a real invitation. More like a joke."
Mabel's eyes softened with understanding. "People try to make themselves feel taller by pushing others down. Happens every day, baby."
The sympathy in her voice almost undid Naomi completely. She steadied herself. "They expect me to show up looking foolish," she said quietly. "Like entertainment. I don't have anything to wear anyway. I don't even know why I'm here."
"Sure you do," Mabel murmured. She walked toward a clothing rack and pulled out a long garment bag. "Some part of you ain't ready to let them define you."
Naomi exhaled shakily. Mabel opened the bag, revealing a dark green gown stitched with subtle patterns—elegant but understated, the kind of dress that didn't scream for attention but commanded it quietly.
"This," Mabel said, brushing her hand over the fabric, "belonged to your mother?"
Naomi blinked in surprise. "No, my mother never had anything like that."
"Well," Mabel replied, "then maybe it belongs to the woman you're about to become." She stepped closer and took Naomi's hands in her own weathered ones. "Listen to me, Naomi Brooks. I've lived long enough to see the world break good people. But I've also seen good people rise right back up, stronger and brighter than before. You carry something, child. Something the world didn't give you and can't take away." Her voice softened. "Let me help you show it."
Naomi stared at her, overwhelmed. "I can't afford—"
"Hush." Mabel waved a hand. "Money comes and goes. Dignity stays. Let me be part of yours."
Tears stung Naomi's eyes, unexpected and uninvited. She tried to blink them away, but her breath trembled. "No one's been this kind to me in a long time," she whispered.
"That's their loss," Mabel said. "Now stand up straight. Let me see your shoulders."
For the next hour, Naomi stood on a small wooden box while Mabel circled her like a general preparing a soldier for battle. She pinned seams, adjusted straps, murmured to herself about altering the waist. The dress slowly began to shape itself around Naomi's form, transforming from fabric to possibility.
At one point, Mabel paused and placed a hand over Naomi's heart. "This right here," she said, "is what they don't see. But they will."
When Naomi finally stepped down, she saw the gown on the mannequin beside her. And for the first time since the laughter in that hallway, she felt a flicker of pride—fragile, but glowing.