The changing room was quiet. Too quiet that made her own breathing sound like a confession she hadn't planned on making — and her filthy thoughts echo louder than they had any right to.
Maria stood in front of the mirror. She'd unzipped the racing suit to her waist, peeled the top half down, and let it hang from her hips like a defeated surrender.
The sleeves dangled uselessly at her sides. Her upper body was bare — nothing between her and the glass but skin, sweat, and years of pretending she didn't still need to be touched like a woman instead of a mother or a doctor.
She looked at herself but not as she usually did in morning while brushing her teeth — this one catalogued flaws like a bored accountant and moved on.
