Seraphina's Point Of View
I stood at the front door longer than necessary.
Just… stood there.
Keys still in my hand. Back pressed to the wood. The silence of the hallway ringing louder than traffic ever could. My chest rose and fell too fast, breath shallow, panicky, like my lungs were auditioning for a breakdown.
Okay.
Okay.
You're home.
You're fine.
You're alive.
I closed my eyes and started breathing the way the therapist on YouTube once said to—four counts in, hold, four counts out. Except my brain refused to cooperate and turned it into panic breathing with extra spice.
In. Out. In. Out.
I groaned quietly and dug into my bag, fingers fumbling until I pulled out my compact mirror. My reflection stared back at me like a crime scene.
Swollen lips. Slight shadows under my eyes. A faint redness on my neck that I absolutely, categorically did not have the emotional capacity to deal with right now.
"Great," I whispered. "Fantastic. Ten out of ten. No notes."
