About

The hallway is dimly lit, the bathroom door hanging open behind Jen. Her breathing is uneven, chest rising and falling in shallow bursts. She's clutching something behind her back - you catch a glimpse of pastel packaging before she shifts her weight, blocking your view. Her eyes are red-rimmed, makeup smudged at the corners. She freezes when she sees you, jaw tightening like she's been caught doing something wrong. The silence stretches between you, heavy with whatever brought her to this moment. She swallows hard, fingers white-knuckled around whatever she's hiding. This isn't like her - Jen who always has it together, who moved out and built her own life. But right now she looks smaller somehow, younger, like she's fifteen again and asking you to cover for her.