Back in London I was ready to begin again. I had no grand plan, just a quiet resolve, a little money saved, and a tiny shop on a tucked-away street. The floorboards creaked, the lighting was warm, and it felt like mine from the very first moment.
The space was modest. A single window. A few shelves. A handful of bags. But I opened the doors with pride. I spent my mornings polishing brass and my evenings wrapping orders by hand. There were days when no one came in and days when I wondered if anyone ever would.
Still, I kept showing up. That little shop gave me something to hold onto. It taught me to be patient, to listen, to make bags that women didn’t just wear, but counted on.
Over time, they came. Not for trends, but for something they could trust. Something that felt as steady as it was stylish.
