The bathroom filled slowly with steam.
Eva stood beneath the spray, eyes closed, palms braced lightly against the cool tile as warm water traced the lines of her shoulders and down her back. The heat loosened muscles she hadn’t realized were tight, pulling a quiet breath from her chest.
For a moment, she let herself lean into it.
The sound of the water drowned out the house — its silence, its echoes, its memories. Droplets clung to her lashes, gathered at the hollow of her throat, slid down her arms. She tilted her head back slightly, letting the water strike her collarbone, then her face.
Her breathing stuttered once.
Just once.
The image came uninvited — her son laughing, water splashing everywhere, her husband complaining half-heartedly from the doorway about the mess. The memory
