Everybody at church knows the Harrises. Mr. Harris owns the insurance office near the courthouse. Mrs. Harris runs every women's committee like she's preparing people for inspection. Their son, Daniel, always stands beside Dad after church, smiling and shaking hands like he's already practicing for public office.
I've talked to him before.
Every conversation has felt more like he was checking boxes than actually getting to know me.
"Oh."
It's the only thing I can think to say.
"I didn't know they were coming."
"Your father decided this afternoon."
Before I can ask anything else, Dad walks into the room.
He's already changed out of his work clothes. His tie is straight, his sleeves are buttoned, and his hair is combed back like he's expecting someone important.
"There you are," he says.
His eyes move over my scrubs before settling on my cardigan.
"Go upstairs and change, Lucy. Daniel and his parents will be here soon."
I glance down at myself.
"My scrubs are clean."
"They still look like scrubs."
I bite the inside of my cheek.
"I've been at work all day."
"And now you're home."
His voice stays calm, but I know that tone.
"I don't want you sitting down to dinner looking like you just walked out of the clinic."
"Yes, sir."
I start toward the stairs.
"And wear something nice."
I stop.
"Nothing too casual," he continues. "The Harrises are good people. They appreciate modesty and respect."
Here's a version that flows naturally and stays in Lucy's deep POV:
I nod because I know he isn't talking about clothes. He's reminding me how he expects me to act before anyone even gets here. Smile. Be polite. Don't argue. Don't embarrass him. I swallow the knot in my throat, then turn and head upstairs without another word.
The second I close my bedroom door, I lean against it and let out a slow breath. My phone is still tucked into the pocket of my cardigan. I pull it out and stare at Scarlett's message. She hasn't followed up or tried to pressure me. She said she'd wait until I answered, and she meant it. The choice is still mine. That shouldn't feel unusual, but somehow it does.
I lay the phone on my bed and change into a pale blue dress that buttons up the front and falls below my knees. Dad likes this one because it's simple, and Mom always tells me it brings out my eyes. I pull on a white cardigan, brush my hair until it falls over my shoulders, then stop.
For a second I leave it down, I like it this way. I catch myself in the mirror, reach back, and braid it anyway. It's easier, or maybe it's just what everyone's expecting.
