Embracing the Broken

Vivienne’s POV

The bathroom was silent in a way that made even breathing feel too loud.

The bathwater had gone cold, rippling faintly as I sat there; knees drawn to my chest, hair clinging damply to my face.

The mirror across from me was fogged, my reflection a smear of color and grief. I didn’t move. I couldn’t. The only sound was the soft drip of water from the faucet, constant and patient, like