Through the Glass

Chapter 6

The soft rustle of pages filled the air as Eliza absently flipped through one of the books left in her room, though her mind wasn't absorbing any of the words. The morning sun streamed through the curtains, casting gentle shadows across the room, but the warmth did little to ease the tension coiling in her chest.

She'd slept, but not well. The dreams had returned—fragments of her past mingling with the weight of everything she refused to acknowledge. Even now, hours later, she could feel the lingering ache, the pull of memories she'd buried long ago. But she couldn't dwell on them. Not here. Not now.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, the reminder for the morning mindfulness session flashing on the screen. Eliza sighed, closing the book and setting it aside. She knew why she was here—why Sarah had insisted on the retreat—but facing it was a different matter entirely. She'd spent so long building walls around herself, prioritizing others, that the thought of turning inward felt almost impossible.

As she stepped into the hallway, the quiet murmur of voices drifted toward her from the common area. Other participants were already gathering, their footsteps soft on the wooden floor. Eliza followed the sound, her hands slipping into the pockets of her sweater as she approached the room where the mindfulness session was being held.

Inside, a few dozen chairs were arranged in a circle, facing inward. Some participants were already seated, their eyes closed as they tried to center themselves. The air was filled with the soft scent of lavender, calming yet distant, as if it couldn't quite reach the corners of her mind.

Eliza took a seat near the back, her gaze drifting across the room. She recognized a few faces from the night before, their expressions mirroring the same mix of hesitation and uncertainty she felt. She briefly thought of the man she had exchanged a few words with the night before—Connor? She wasn't entirely sure of his name. It didn't matter now. The brief conversation had left a faint impression, but her focus needed to be elsewhere. She had come here to heal, not to dwell on fleeting interactions.

The retreat leader, Tori, a soft-spoken woman with a calm demeanor, stood at the center of the circle. Her voice was soothing as she began the session, guiding everyone into a simple breathing exercise.

"Take a deep breath in," the leader instructed, her tone gentle. "And as you exhale, let go of whatever you've been holding onto."

Eliza closed her eyes, following the rhythm of the breathing exercise, but her thoughts were restless. Let go. The words echoed in her mind, but they felt like a foreign concept. She had spent so long holding everything together—her patients, her career, her own carefully constructed life—that the idea of letting go seemed impossible.

Eliza tried to focus on her breathing, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly, but her mind kept drifting. Tori's voice, calm and steady, continued to guide the group through the mindfulness exercise, but the words seemed distant, muffled by the weight of her thoughts.

While Tori's voice flowed through the room like a gentle current, Eliza found herself mentally dissecting the exercise. It was a practice she'd walked patients through countless times. But sitting here, as one of them, she felt the instructions bouncing off her, unable to sink in.

She was supposed to be here for herself—to let go, to heal. But all she could think about were the people who depended on her. The patients she had left behind. Mrs. Calloway with her grief, Marcus and his panic attacks. They were counting on her to hold things together, to guide them through their darkest moments. How could she step away when they needed her?

Eliza shifted in her seat, the cushion beneath her feeling strangely uncomfortable. The air in the room, once soothing with its lavender scent, now felt stifling. She opened her eyes and glanced around, noticing how everyone else seemed so calm, so at ease. The other participants sat with their eyes closed, their bodies relaxed, their faces peaceful. Why couldn't she find that same sense of calm?