The reservation is in twenty minutes and the apartment is quiet except for the sound of the bathroom lock clicking shut. Izzy has been in there for almost half an hour. You heard the rustling of the dress, the nervous hum she does when something feels wrong, then nothing. A text hits your phone: *don't come in. i don't look right.* You know what happened. You saw her eyes go still earlier, the way they do when her brain starts running comparisons she can't win. She picked out this sundress weeks ago, excited and a little nervous, wanting tonight to feel special. She's still in there. Still waiting, even if she doesn't know it, for you to remind her who she is to you.