Through the Glass

Chapter 1

The soft murmur of soothing voices filled the air, punctuated by the occasional rustling of papers and the gentle tap-tap-tapping of a keyboard. Dr. Elizabeth Williams sat across from her patient in her office, a space suffused with the faint, antiseptic aroma characteristic of clinical environments. Yet Eliza, ever attentive to the comfort of her visitors, had added subtle touches—a potted fern resting on a corner shelf, delicate curtains diffusing the afternoon sunlight that attempted to breach the window.

She leaned forward, her dark hair cascading over one shoulder, as she listened intently to the young man seated across from her. His words spilled out in torrents, reflecting the tangled thoughts he could scarcely manage. Eliza's gaze remained fixed, her eyes warm and unwavering as she absorbed every fractured sentence.

Outside her door, the phone trilled relentlessly. Eliza seemed not to notice, or perhaps chose to ignore it as an act of defiant prioritization. Here in this room, nothing mattered more than the person before her—his pain, his fear, his desperate hope for understanding.

The session wrapped with a murmured thank-you from the young man. He stood awkwardly, the tension still coiled in his frame, but his eyes held a flicker of something lighter, a hope that had been missing when he first walked in. Eliza offered him a soft smile, rising from her chair.

"You're doing great work," she said gently, her voice calm and reassuring. "We'll pick up again next week, alright?"

He nodded, almost too quickly, before shuffling toward the door. Eliza watched him go, waiting until the soft click of the door closing signaled the briefest pause in her day. Her hand, once steady, rested on the desk, fingers brushing against the scattered notes and files. The phone had stopped its relentless ringing, leaving a sudden, almost unsettling quiet in its wake.

For the first time in hours, she allowed herself to lean back into the chair, her body sinking into the cushions with a sigh she didn't mean to release. The ache in her neck tugged at her attention, a dull throb that had been growing all afternoon. She rotated her head slightly, attempting to stretch the tension away, but it settled in deeper.

A glance at the clock told her she was already late. The next appointment loomed on the horizon, another patient waiting for her, another set of problems needing to be untangled. But for now, just for this moment, she closed her eyes.

The quiet only lasted a breath.

Her phone buzzed on the desk, a flashing notification jolting her back to reality. Eliza blinked, reaching for it out of reflex. The message was from Sarah.

Coffee tomorrow? We really need to talk about that retreat I mentioned... You can't keep running on empty, Eliza.

Eliza's thumb hovered over the screen, the weight of the message heavier than it should have been. The retreat. Sarah had been relentless in her suggestions, talking about how important it was to step away and recharge, to focus on herself for once. But every time the idea was brought up, Eliza found a way to push it aside. Too busy. Too many patients. Too much at stake.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the reflection of her phone screen—her face half-hidden in the glare, her eyes tired, framed by dark strands of hair that had slipped from her bun. The person staring back at her seemed distant, someone she barely recognized these days. She set the phone down without replying, her thoughts retreating as quickly as the suggestion itself.

There was no time to entertain the luxury of rest. Not now.

Her eyes flicked toward the mirror on the far wall of her office. She almost didn't want to look, but some pull, some quiet instinct, drew her gaze. Her reflection stared back, a softened version of her in the late afternoon light, the shadows deepening the lines around her eyes. It wasn't just exhaustion; it was something deeper, something heavier that had settled in long ago.