Ranee was a gifted young designer who opened a tiny shop in Ilfracombe and filled it with her own work ' dresses, blouses, skirts, all displayed on old beer crates she'd painted green. The place smelled of fabric and fresh paint and hope. I went in often. At first, I bought a small top for under twenty pounds. It made me feel like I belonged there. After that, something shifted. When she was distracted, I slipped a dress into my bag. The next time, another. Each visit ended the same way ' a smile, a light 'Night, Ranee,' and me walking out heavier with stolen silk and her trust. I have more than ten of her dresses now. I've never seen her shop again. What I carry isn't the clothes. It's the absence of the girl who once greeted me by name.