I pressed my forehead against the cool glass, watching my breath fog the surface.

The sun climbed higher, painting the sky in possibility. Another day of pretending, of building walls while secretly hoping he’d break through.

The irony wasn’t lost on me - a lawyer who could argue any case except the one for her own happiness.

The morning routine felt mechanical: shower, dress, armor up. Each garment a shield, each swipe of makeup a mask.

My mother’s words singing in my mind: ‘A lady always shows her best self.’ But what happens when that best self feels like a mask, a version sculpted to hide what’s real?

Lost inside these thoughts, I moved through my apartment like a ghost.