Scattered across the tile like something died there.
My breath catches.
A sound tears out of me before I can stop it. Something muffled and raw.
“Shit,” Aunt Susan gasps. “I meant to clean that up last night. Don’t look at it, honey. Don’t?—”
But I already am.
I press my hand to my mouth. My shoulders shake. A sob escapes, loud against my palm.
Aunt Susan drops to her knees beside me.
Her arms wrap around me, warm and steady.
“There it is, girl,” she murmurs. “Let it out. Let it out.”
I bury my face in her shoulder and cry again, harder than last night, because now there’s nothing left to hide behind.
No dress.
No hair.
No crown.
No mask.
Just the pieces.
She rubs slow circles between my shoulders while the sobs wring me out. Her voice stays soft and steady.
“You’re here,” she says. “You’re safe. And this?—”
Another gentle rub.
“This doesn’t get to break you forever.”
I cling to her, small and shaking.
Somehow, I get dressed.
Don’t ask me how.
It’s like my body moves on its own while my brain floats somewhere behind me, watching through fog.
Black leggings.
Oversized sweatshirt.
Boots I don’t bother lacing all the way.
I sip tea with honey because it’s the only thing that doesn’t make my stomach twist. My hands won’t stop shaking. Every sound feels too loud. Every breath feels too shallow.
Shani shows up again around noon, hair in a messy bun, wearing a look that says she didn’t sleep either.
“You good?” she asks.
“No,” I say honestly.
