Impassive

7| Shopping

She took the light green fabric in her hands, felt the material, and wished she were braver.

MATTEO

I watched Ava as she stepped into the store, her movements hesitant, as if she wasn't entirely sure what to make of this world. She blinked as her eyes adjusted to the softer light inside, taking in the rows of luxurious clothing and accessories, all so polished and pristine. Everything here was unfamiliar to her, but it seemed to fit her somehow. She was dressed in a simple black dress, elegant in its simplicity, yet I knew it wasn't what she would have chosen on her own before.
I stood behind her, waiting, unsure of how to help her find her footing in this life we once shared. Her mind was a blank slate, and every day with her felt like a discovery, an experiment in patience and understanding.

"Relax, Ava," I said, my voice low, but firm, hoping she could sense that I was here for her. "None of this is new to you. You've been here before." Her gaze flickered around the store, and I could almost see her thoughts drifting. She didn't reply immediately, and I knew she was still working through the weight of her own confusion. Her eyes, dark and uncertain, scanned the clothes, but I could tell she wasn't really seeing them.

"I feel displaced," she whispered, almost as if the words had slipped out before she could stop them. Her voice sounded distant, fragile, and my chest tightened at the raw vulnerability in it
I wanted to say something, anything to take away that look of lostness, but I didn't know what would help. So instead, I placed my hand on her arm, gently, grounding her. 

"You are not displaced," I said softly. I led her over to a section with dresses, and I held up a shimmering silver one, elegant and sleek, with a slight sparkle that caught the light. It was the kind of dress I could imagine her wearing, the kind of woman I remembered.

"What do you think of this?" I asked, holding the dress up to her. It felt right, but the uncertainty gnawed at me. Was this her? The woman she had been? Or was it just a shadow of what I wanted her to be?

She turned to face me, looking at the dress with a distant sort of curiosity. I could see her mind trying to process, trying to figure out if it felt familiar or foreign. But when she spoke, her voice was quiet, almost introspective.
"I don't know," she murmured, more to herself than to me. "Its like the ones in her closet."

Her words hung in the air, and I stood there for a moment, unsure of how to respond. Part of me wanted to tell her that she was still the same woman I'd married, that she hadn't changed, but the other part knew that wasn't true—not entirely. She was different. We both knew. 

"How about you try on a few things and you'll see how you feeling within?" I said quietly, my words a little hesitant, but honest. I could see her struggling with the idea, her fingers brushing the smooth fabric of the dress, but there was something almost wistful in her touch, as if she were trying to reach for something just out of grasp.

"Maybe not this dress," she said after a moment. "Maybe more colorful."

I nodded, letting the dress fall back onto the rack. "Then go ahead. Choose whatever you like." She didn't move immediately, just stared at the dress as if it were a mirror into her past. For a brief moment, I wondered if she was afraid to face who she used to be. Or maybe she didn't want to find out who she was becoming. Her eyes met mine then, and for the first time since we'd walked in, I saw something like recognition flash in her expression—not of her past, but of the person she was now, standing here with me. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

"Okay," she said, her voice steadier now. She grabbed a red dress. "I'll try it." As she walked toward the changing room, I leaned against the nearby counter, my eyes following her. The minutes passed slowly as I waited for her, but when the door to the fitting room opened and she stepped out, I felt the breath catch in my chest. The red dress fit her perfectly, hugging her curves in a way that was both elegant and alluring. She hesitated for a moment, looking at me for my reaction, and I realized that, for the first time since the incident, I wasn't seeing her as a stranger. I wasn't just seeing the woman I'd married either. I was seeing her—the Ava who was right here, in front of me, trying to rebuild herself.