Wendy lit the stove to heat a pot of tomato soup. She turned to grab a wooden spoon and gasped. Two little girls in smocked dresses stood in the doorway.
“Come play with us,” one said.
“I’m making lunch,” Wendy whispered.
“We want you to play with us,” the other girl said. They stared at Wendy. Unblinking. Evil. “Come play Monopoly Junior.”
“Why can’t the two of you play together?” Wendy asked.
“We want to play with you,” they said in unison. “Can we have a snack?”
“I’m literally making lunch!” Wendy sobbed.
- - -
Wendy stood outside Room 217. She took the passkey from her pocket and slid it in the lock. Inside, the bathroom door was ajar.
It was in there. She could feel it. She crept in.
There stood a woman: bloated stomach, sagging breasts swaying like ancient cracked punching bags, glassy-eyed, hair dry and wild, pale, lips pulled back in an ugly grimace. Wendy screamed.
It was a mirror. Self-care had fallen to the wayside since Danny was born.