Caged Obsession- Tragic Romance

in my body nothing compared to the ache in my soul. The beeping of the alarm clock punctures the haze of relief I'd hoped for, and reality claws its way back with sharp, unrelenting talons. The swe

sten to his retreating steps, the sound of the bedroom door opening and closing, followed by the creak of the stairs as he descends. In the kitchen, cabinets open and shut with a rhythmic clatter. The metallic click of his coffee cup on the counter, the sound of liquid splashing into it-it all blends into the dull soundtrack of my mornings. The silence he leaves behind is suffocating, pressing down on me like a heavy blanket. I stare up at the ceiling, counting the seconds before I can bring myself to move. It's always like this. A countdown to survival, measured in breaths and beats of my heart. Finally, I force myself to sit up, the sheet falling away from my body as I swing my legs over the edge of the bed. My feet touch the cold floor, grounding me just enough to stand. I move on autopilot, gathering my things and heading to the bathroom. The shower is scalding, steam filling the small space until the mirror fogs over. Hot water pours over my skin, washing away the sweat and the grime, but it doesn't touch the filth that clings to me on the inside. I scrub harder, my nails biting into my skin, but it's useless. There are some things water and soap can't wash away. I linger under the spray longer than I should, letting the heat seep into my bones. It's the closest thing to comfort I'll allow myself. But eventually, the water runs lukewarm, and I know it's time to face the day. I dress in the same uniform I wear every day: gray scrubs, practical and unassuming. My long, dark hair is blow-dried until it's pin-straight, then pulled back into a severe bun at the nape of my neck. I apply just enough concealer to mask the lavender smudges beneath my eyes, adding a quick swipe of mascara for good measure. It's not vanity-it's habit. A routine drilled into me over years of blending into the background. The reflection staring back at me in the mirror is one I ba