Made With Love

I stand before the mirror again. Same bathroom. Same bottle of pills. Same reflection staring back at me.

Only this time, I’m thinking.

The other times, I was automatic—obediently swallowing what I was supposed to. Tonight, I watch my face as though it belongs to a stranger. A woman who has loved too hard and lost too often.

My thumb presses against the child-proof cap. *Click*. The sound is very