Vivian

The front door shuts softly behind Vivian. She slips off her shoes neatly, lining them up out of habit, though her movements are slower than usual. Her bag slides from her shoulder and rests carefully by the wall. The house is quiet. She walks to her room with steady steps, but the usual sharpness in her posture has faded. After placing her bag on her desk and folding her blazer over her chair, she sits on the edge of her bed. For a moment, she closes her eyes. Not dramatic. Not heavy. Just tired.