Steam fills the room and obscures her mirrored self. Through the growing fog she cannot she her wrinkles or the bags under her eyes. She stretches and breathes deeply. **This is not too much. I can handle it.** Water pours over her head and streaks in myriad rivulets down her weary body. She imagines the stress and accumulated weariness sloughing off her like dead skin and sliding down the drain in dirty chunks, leaving only pink, refreshed sanity behind. To some extent, it works.
**I've got to talk to them about this. I'm getting further and further away from them every day, and coming home exhausted and out of sorts is making it any better.** Her shampoo smells like withered roses. She rinses the remaining soap off her body and turns off the water regretfully, hunger taking precedent over her desire to stay in the shower indefinitely. **The kids are probably hungry too.**