The saleswoman scrutinized her from top to bottom before letting go, without the slightest delicacy: * "This dress is not made for you. You're too big. »*
Nothing else. Not the slightest word to soften the brutality of the comment.
Hazel didn't shed a tear. She simply turned on her heel, joined the car and stared at the scenery passing by the window all the way back. His mother would later confide that this heavy silence worried her much more than any crying fit.
An invisible wound that has been worn for months
What these saleswomen couldn't guess was the weight Hazel had been carrying since spring. His brother Mason — the one who affectionately called him "Hazelnut," stole his breakfast syrup and promised to be his date at the ball if no one showed up — had lost his life in a car accident. A slippery road, a truck, and an ordinary Tuesday that smashed everything.
