Cracks In The Mirror
Elena Rivers
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The mirror in the hallway shattered on its own.
Or so she told herself.
She'd come home late from the market—arms heavy with groceries, rain dripping from her sleeves—and found the fragments glittering across the wooden floor like tiny blades. No signs of a break-in. No storm. No fallen shelf. Just glass, broken from the inside out, as if something behind the reflection had been trying to get through.
Christopher cleaned it up for her in silence. He didn't ask questions this time.
But his eyes lingered longer on the doorway when he left.
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Elena barely slept that night.
She checked the windows twice. Then the locks. Then again.
Her sketchbook sat unopened on the table. Her tea cooled untouched. Her hands wouldn't stop shaking.
She hadn't felt this fragile in weeks.
And she hated it.
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The next morning, something else was off.
A photo frame she'd hidden deep in her closet—a cheap little thing from university days—was sitting on the kitchen table. She hadn't seen it in over a year.
It was dusty.
But untouched.
And inside it, an old photo of her and Christopher… and someone else who had been cut out crudely.
Her throat dried instantly.
She didn't remember taking the photo out.
She certainly didn't place it there.
And yet, there it was—laid out like a message.
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Later, when she undressed for a shower, she noticed bruises she couldn't explain on her inner thigh.
Not violent.
But intentional.
Like hands had been there in the night.
Her stomach flipped, and she gripped the sink until her knuckles whitened.
No.
No, she told herself.
It wasn't happening again.
He was gone.
He was gone.
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But the mirror was broken. The photo was out. Her body was keeping secrets.
And somewhere deep inside her—something was beginning to grow.
Even if she didn't know it yet.
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