The silence after the shower was immediate and complete, that specific bathroom silence of a room that has been full of sound and is now without it, the steam still thick in the air, the mirrors completely white, nothing visible but white and warmth.
I reached for the towel.
I dried off slowly, the unhurried way of a woman who was alone and not performing speed for anyone, and I found my robe on the back of the door and put it on and knotted it at the waist and wiped a circle in the mirror with the flat of my hand and looked at myself.
I looked different.
Not dramatically. Not in any way that someone who did not know my face would identify. But I knew my face the way you know the face you have been looking at your whole life, every habitual expression and every default setting, and the
