CLARA sat at her dresser, the soft yellow glow of her bedside lamp bouncing off the polished wood. She rested her chin lightly on one palm, her other hand holding her phone against her ear. Her reflection stared back at her in the mirror, eyes that looked heavier these days, carrying both curiosity and disappointment. The phone rang twice, and then a soft, familiar voice filled her ear.
“Hi, Clara,” Amelia said, her voice faint, laced with exhaustion but still steady enough to be recognizable.
Clara exhaled deeply, as though she had been holding her breath.
“Amelia… how are you coping?”
There was silence for a moment, then a small sigh.
“I don’t know if coping is the right word, Clara. I’m… surviving. Trying to find air in a space that no longer belongs to me.”
Clara pressed her li
