She always wore clothes that swallowed her.

Hoodies three sizes too big. Sweatpants she had to roll at the waist. T-shirts with sleeves that hung past her fingertips, like she was trying to disappear inside them. And maybe she was.

The mirror in the hallway had a crack running through its bottom-left corner. She caught her reflection in it sometimes, by accident, and always looked away before she could see too much. Before she could count all the reasons someone might not look twice.

Simon never said anything about it.

He noticed. She could feel it sometimes the weight of his gaze when she walked past, quiet and unreadable behind that mask he only took off in the bedroom. But he never asked why she bought her clothes two sizes up. Never told her she'd look better in something tighter. Never said a word.