She walks into the bedroom and opens the wardrobe; she selects a nice shawl, to complement the dress she’s wearing, and pulls it out from the many-coloured piles of clothes, before sliding the door shut.

She’s about to leave when, out of the corner of her eye, she sees the other side of the door has slid open. Just a little bit. Almost invitingly.

She had been meaning to get rid of its contents. She has planned to do it the very next weekend, to pack everything away and give it to goodwill.

Maybe just one last look?

She places one hand on the door, and pauses. She doesn’t have time for this. She’s already late.

But can five minutes really make that much of a difference?

She steadies her breath, then slides the door open fully.

Everything is as it always had been. As it had to be. Trousers, shirts, jackets, all neatly lined up on hangers. All black, blue, white, or grey. All drab. Instinctively, her eyes are drawn to the only splash of colour in that bleak landscape: her collection of neck ties. She used to love wearing them… Before. Each one a story, a meaning, a memory.

Take this red one, for example. Her uncle gave it to her on the day of her First Communion. Everyone must look their best when meeting the Lord for the first time.

Or this black one. Prom. She remembers her mother tying it around her neck, smiling. My, don’t you look dashing.

Dark green. A gift from her dad when she was off to college. Remember, a man shows no fear. A man shows no weakness.

Without her even noticing, her hand rises to her cheek as a long-forgotten pain flares anew.

Purple, first date. The other girl made fun of her a little bit. Really? Dress shirt and tie? That’s your casual wear?

Another green, emerald this time, and light blue: second date and third date. (Score!)

She wore the same blue at her mother’s funeral.

Almost hidden, behind all others, is a rainbow-coloured tie; they made her wear that at her bachelor’s party, as a joke. It got soaked in beer and liquor before the night was done, but she took it home, and washed it carefully. The colours ran a bit, but she still treasures it.

Her wedding day’s is a deep crimson, the colour of courage. She’d chosen it so she would find the guts to tell her fiancée before they tied the knot.

But that didn’t work out.

Yellow, as unlikely as it sounds, is the colour she was wearing when she finally broke down and cried in front of her wife. When it all came pouring out. When nothing was hidden any more.

Red with blue stripes is what she wore to the clinic when she signed the consent. When she bought the pills. When she swallowed the first dose.

Her tie was pink on the day her wife left her. Thinking about it, the tie itself was probably the cause. The straw that broke the camel’s back.

It was grey when her wife came back.

Because, despite everything, I still love you.

A rich royal blue is the last colour she wore to work the day she was fired. The very same colour she wore when her father disowned her.

She’d stopped wearing ties after that. But she’s never stopped reaching out to him, she’s never stopped trying, even if she hasn’t been successful yet.

Someone steps up behind her.

“Honey, what’s the hold-up? We’re going to be late.”

She slides the door shut, turns around, and smiles at her wife. “Sorry, I was just… Remembering.”