I watched her from the doorway.
She took a pill from the night table, dry-swallowed it, then chased it with a mouthful of water. Same routine. Every morning, since I had been assigned to watch if she deviated from it since a few months ago. Like if she did it slow enough, careful enough, the day might go easier on her.
It never did.
She moved on autopilot—washing her face, stripping, bathing. I stayed quiet. She hated being watched, especially now. Especially when mirrors were involved.
She lingered in front of the sink.
That was always the hard part.
Hailey ran a hand through her damp blonde hair. It brushed her neck now. Longer than it used to be. Longer than she liked. I could see it in her eyes—the way it dragged her back to a version of herself that didn't exist anymore.
"Ugly," she muttered to her reflection. "You're uglier than I remember."
She tilted her head, forcing a smirk that didn't stick.
