Chapter 77

• MONIQUE
• I stood in front of the full-length mirror, my reflection bathed in the dim light of my bedroom, looking at the woman staring back at me. It was strange how unfamiliar I had become to myself lately, how detached I felt from the person I used to be. The dress Sophie had picked out for me was a soft, flowing flare, the kind that gently swayed with every movement. It wasn't my usual sharp, tailored style—this dress had a lightness to it, a carefree elegance that I hadn't worn in what felt like ages. Pale yellow, with tiny, intricate floral patterns stitched into the hem, it felt like a whisper of summer, something fresh and hopeful.
• I ran my fingers along the delicate fabric, feeling the contrast between its softness and the hardened edges of my reality. The dress was beautiful—happy even—but in the reflection, it felt like a costume. I could see myself, but I wasn't sure if I knew the woman looking back at me. There was a sadness in my eyes that the fabric couldn't mask, an undercurrent of weariness that lingered beneath the surface. Somewhere along the way, I had become lost, tangled in my plans, my lies. The girl who once moved with purpose, driven by justice and control, now felt like a ghost, wrapped in deception.