Mia had stood in front of the mirror longer than she wanted to admit.
Not because she didn't know what she was doing.
Because she did.
The dress clung in places she usually hid. Black, short, unapologetic. The neckline dipped just enough to make her chest feel exposed, like she'd forgotten to lock a door. Her legs were bare, her heels higher than practical, her lips darker than usual. This wasn't the version of herself that moved quietly through kitchens and hallways, hair tucked away, shoulders small.
This was deliberate.
She adjusted the strap once, twice, then stopped touching it altogether. If it slipped, it slipped. That was the point. She picked up her little notebook from the dresser, the one she'd written the list in the night she'd decided to stop behaving like fear was a full-time job. She flipped it open, scanned the page, smirked, then slid it into her bag.
Live, even if it scares me.
She locked the door behind her and didn't look back.
