Mirror Mirror
Copyright© 2026 by Zack Caddo
Chapter 1
The car hummed along the familiar route to the counselor’s office, the late afternoon traffic moving in fits and starts. Katie sat in the passenger seat, arms crossed loosely over her chest, staring out the window at the passing strip malls and neighborhoods. At 37, she still had the red hair that caught the light and the 5’8” frame that turned heads when she put in the effort, but today she felt none of that. She had thrown on a simple blouse and jeans after another long day of managing three demanding little ones. Her medium-to-large breasts pressed against the fabric, a constant reminder of the body that no longer felt entirely hers.
Jeff drove with his usual quiet focus, hands at ten and two. The radio played one of Katie’s preferred stations — a contemporary pop mix she had insisted on when they got in the car. She had made it clear years ago that she wasn’t going to sit through sports talk while she was already on edge. That was one small boundary she had held onto fiercely, a remnant of the woman who used to cater to her own wants and needs without apology. SAHM life and marriage had chipped away at that freedom, leaving her feeling deprived and quick to snap when she didn’t get her way. She knew it was childish. She even called these moments her “crazy episodes” when she was calm enough to reflect. But in the moment, the urge to demand her own comfort was hard to resist.
Katie shifted in her seat, the familiar tightness building in her chest. “I hate these drives,” she said, her voice already carrying an edge. “It feels like we’re just going through the motions again. Another hour of talking about the same things.”
Jeff glanced over, his expression careful. “We have to keep trying, Katie. The kids need us to figure this out.”
She let out a sharp, bitter laugh that bordered on the “crazy episode” territory she hated but couldn’t always stop. “The kids. Of course it’s about the kids. Everything is about the kids. When do I get to be a person who wants something for herself without feeling like I’m being selfish?”
The words hung in the car. She knew she sounded childish. She could hear it. But the feeling was real — the deep, gnawing sense that marriage and motherhood had taken the version of herself who used to put her own wants and needs first and replaced it with someone who was always last on the list. SAHM life had sharpened that resentment until it cut.
Jeff sighed, the sound tired but not angry. “We’ve talked about this. I’m trying. You’re trying. That’s why we’re going to Ellen.”
Katie didn’t answer. She turned back to the window, watching the buildings slide by. She had met Jeff when she was 27. They married two weeks after her 28th birthday. Back then his calm had felt like safety. Now it often felt like distance.
By the time they pulled into the parking lot of the modest office building, the tension in the car had settled into a heavy silence. They walked in together, side by side but not touching.
Ellen Harper’s office was comfortable in an unpretentious way — soft chairs, a few plants, and a window that looked out onto a small green space. The mid-50s therapist sat in her usual spot, notepad on her lap, her calm, steady presence a contrast to the storm Katie often brought in.
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