The mirror in our bedroom had always been kind to me, but that night it showed a woman I barely recognized. I smoothed the navy dress over my hips and clipped on the small pearl earrings my mother left me. Behind me, Sam adjusted his tie three times, each pull tighter than the last.
“Hannah, not that lipstick. The other one. The softer one.”
I switched it without arguing. I had stopped arguing somewhere around year four.
He had no idea what I did all afternoon.
“And try to smile tonight.” He watched his own reflection. “Don’t get into one of your quiet moods. These are important people.”
“I know they’re important, Sam.”