By the time I stepped out of the bathroom, the steam had faded and the mirror was clear again.
I didn't look at it.
Not because I was afraid of what I'd see. But because I already knew.
I dried myself with the towel slowly, mechanically. As if doing everything carefully would undo what had just happened. The heat between my legs had faded to a low, ghostly hum. The kind that lingered.
I picked out something soft and neutral from my suitcase—a long beige skirt, a white blouse. Modest. Clean. The kind of outfit you wear when you want to appear settled, even if you're not. I brushed my hair back into a neat low bun and added a thin layer of mascara.
Painted composure.
I'd worn it before.
Downstairs, Lina was finishing her toast at the counter, scrolling on her phone. She glanced up and smiled.
"You clean up good," she said between bites.
"Years of practice," I replied, voice calm.
Lina stretched again with a soft grunt. "Alright. My turn to get clean."
She set her mug in the sink and wandered off, humming under her breath, hoodie slipping off one shoulder. I watched her vanish up the stairs.
I sat down on the couch.
Phone in hand.
I wasn't really scrolling. Just moving my thumb, grazing headlines, thumbnails, words I didn't read. Letting the quiet hum of the house fill the space Lina left behind. The faint rush of plumbing kicked on upstairs—water running, the bathroom fan clicking to life.
She was up there, where I'd just been. Showering.
And somewhere in that same room, folded on the towel rack, was everything I'd touched.
I forced my eyes to the screen.
Fifteen minutes passed. Maybe twenty.
The shower stopped. Doors opened. Footsteps. Movement. The scent of Lina's citrus shampoo drifted faintly down the hall.
And then—like a film jump cutting to the next beat—she was back, dressed in denim shorts and a knotted white tee, hair damp and glowing.
"Alright," she said, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "Let's go make questionable purchases."
I stood, smoothing the skirt over my hips.
"Ready when you are."
We stepped out just as he came back.
David was rounding the corner of the house, keys twirling lazily on one finger, a grocery bag slung over the other. He looked relaxed, slightly flushed from the sun, a plain grey T-shirt clinging faintly to his chest. His hair was tousled. Lips parted like he'd been singing to himself.
He stopped when he saw us.
"Oh," he said, smiling. "Heading out?"
Lina grinned. "Gonna fix my sister's wardrobe. Pray for me."
David chuckled. "Oh, that's nice."
His eyes flicked to me, just for a second.
Just a second.
But it was enough.
"Have fun girls! I'll see you later then" he said, then kissed Lina on her forehead.
I held his gaze, smiled lightly.
Then turned to the car before I did something stupid.
The passenger door clicked open. I slid in. Lina took the wheel.
By the time we backed out of the driveway, David had already disappeared inside.
But the echo of that glance stayed with me.
Long after the house was gone.
The city was only fifteen minutes out, but Lina filled the time like it was hours—music low, windows cracked, her voice dancing between topics. She talked about the boutique she wanted to visit, a café that just reopened, how she hadn't had a real "sister day" in years.
I nodded when I should. Laughed once or twice.
But my thoughts were somewhere else.
Still clinging to the heat of a brief look.
Still wondering what he'd seen in my eyes.
And what I might've seen in his.
The boutique smelled like perfume and soft lighting.
Everything was pastel, gold-trimmed, arranged like a dream. Thin dresses floated on hangers like they didn't know what weight was. Mannequins smiled with their painted mouths and hip-jutting confidence. The air conditioning was crisp, the kind that made you too aware of your own skin.
Lina darted off immediately, already pulling tops from racks.
I stayed by the entrance for a moment, pretending to scroll through my phone. Watching.
The girls here… they glowed.
Not just from makeup or clothes, but from something deeper. Something unspoken.
Life. They had life in them.
Two of them passed me, arms linked, laughing so easily it sounded rehearsed. One wore a tiny floral sundress, the other a crop top and ripped jeans that looked painted on. Bare legs. Glossed lips. No shame.
No history.
They didn't even notice me.
I watched them float through the aisles like they belonged here. Like the world had already said yes to them.
And I…
I was 42.
Wearing a tucked blouse and a long skirt like armor. Mascara precise. Hair pinned to perfection. Every line on my face softened by effort.
But I could still feel them.
The lines. The age.
The truth of being the woman people smiled at politely, not for.
Across the boutique, a man stood with his girlfriend. Younger couple. He held her purse while she tried something on, and when she emerged from the dressing room, his mouth actually fell open.
She giggled. Blushed.
He pulled her in for a kiss, right there in the middle of the store.
And she didn't care.
My stomach twisted.
Not because they were kissing.
But because it looked easy.
Like love was just something that happened if you were still young enough, pretty enough, untouched by time or disappointment.
Lina waved me over with a blouse in each hand. "These are so you."
They weren't. They were hopeful.
And I was tired.
I gave her a smile anyway, the same one I gave to waiters, to neighbors, to people who asked how I was doing when they didn't really care.
I took the blouses.
Walked past the girl in the sundress.
And caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror beside her.
She glowed.
I looked... faded.
And the worst part?
I couldn't even hate her.
I could only hate what I'd let happen to me.
I lingered in front of the mirror longer than I meant to.
The lighting was merciless.
But maybe… it was also honest.
Yes, there were lines around my eyes. My mouth. A softness to my arms, my waist. Skin that had known heat and years and hands that didn't stay.
But there was something else, too.
My collarbones still curved like sculpture. My neck was long, elegant. My lips, even unpainted, still held shape. There were shadows and angles in my face that had nothing to do with age—just presence.
Maybe I should stop being so harsh to myself.
The thought came quietly, like a stranger brushing my hand.
I looked at the blouse Lina picked out—silk, forest green, loose at the sleeves, deep at the neckline. I held it up to my chest.
It was… bold.
Too bold?
No.
Maybe just bold enough.
I imagined David seeing me in it. Not as Lina's sister. Not as the divorced one sleeping in the guest room. But as a woman.
A woman who could still turn a head. Hold a gaze. Make him pause.
This is a good chance to buy something nice. Something that David would like.
I turned toward the dressing rooms and felt the faintest lift in my chest.
It wasn't hope.
Not exactly.
It was want.
And it was mine.
The dressing room was small, softly lit, with a velvet stool and a full-length mirror framed in gold. The kind of space meant to make you feel delicate. Worthy of admiration.
I pulled the curtain closed behind me and slipped out of my blouse. Folded it. Set it gently on the stool.
The silk one slid over my skin like water.
Cool. Weightless.
Alive.
I adjusted the sleeves, then the hem, then stood back to look.
It wasn't just beautiful—it transformed me.
The green made my skin look brighter, warmer. My collarbones sharp. My shoulders strong. The neckline dipped low but not vulgar, framing my chest in a way that was unmistakably sensual—but tasteful. Controlled. Like a secret I chose whether or not to share.
And my breasts… God.
The silk framed them perfectly.
Not squeezed. Not exposed.
But present.
Alive.
I tilted slightly in the mirror, turning this way and that. My fingers drifted up to smooth the fabric, tracing the curve beneath it.
The way the blouse clung when I exhaled—it didn't hide anything. It highlighted what was still mine.
What no man had really appreciated in far too long.
Would David notice?
The thought came uninvited, but not unwelcome.
Would his gaze linger, just a little longer than politeness allowed?
Would his voice change, the way men's voices do when they see something they suddenly want?
Would he look at me like I wasn't just his girlfriend's sister… but a woman?
The woman?
I didn't smile.
But my lips parted slightly as I exhaled, and I leaned in close to the mirror.
Ran a hand down my waist.
I looked expensive.
I looked dangerous.
And for the first time in weeks, I wanted to be seen.