Text: Luke/Wren
[She goes through the polaroids twice, while still in bed, the pictures strewn over the blankets and her belly, and the light on the nightstand a quiet thing that barely helps the early morning light that isn't quite making it through the windows yet. She reads each message, and she traces each one with her fingers, as if she can glean something from the touch against the fading indent of the marker.
Despite the fact that the kids are asleep, she gets out of bed. She takes a long bath, salts from the 1920s that smell like lavender and jasmine, and the whole bathroom is steam.
After, carefully, she writes on the mirror with her finger, the steam serving as a backdrop so that she can write the word in pretty, perfect script: Something..
She finds her camera, and she snaps a picture of the word, the steam, and she's just visible in the blurred reflection, skin and something written on the mirror, and nothing else.