Therapy Bits

I inherited my grandmother’s shop the day the town forgot her name. Dust filmed the windows; memories stitched themselves into the walls. I found a ledger describing coats made for sailors, brides, fugitives. Each garment promised shelter. When a stranger arrived during the storm, soaked and shaking, I measured him by lamplight. The cloth I chose was stubborn, honest wool. As I sewed, the rain softened, the man breathed. At dawn he left wearing a bespoke coat, and the town remembered warmth again. Years later, the shop thrived, tailoring hope quietly, needle by needle, for anyone brave enough to return.

https://mymindmappings.com/2025/12/03/fowc-with-fandango-bespoke/