The next morning, Mary planted herself in front of the bathroom mirror and tried, without much success, to fix herself up a little.
She combed her hair as best she could, washed her face, straightened her glasses, and even dug through her clothes looking for something that wasn't wrinkled or dirty.
But no matter how hard she tried, no matter what angle she tried it from, the person staring back at her from the mirror was still a complete mess.
Tired, neglected, unremarkable.
Mary let out a sigh of frustration, because the hour was approaching when, by her calculations, Mark would be coming back from work.
And for some reason she couldn't quite explain to herself, she wanted to look presentable when she saw him.
"What the hell are you doing?"
Her mother's voice, right behind her, made her jump.
Mary spun around, her whole body tensing up as she found her mother leaning against the doorframe, watching her with narrowed eyes.
