It catches me on my way out the door, something in the motion, the movement of walking away. There is a bridal veil haze on the mirror. The house, I, am distorted as if through a glass of chablis. I turn, stand directly in front of it. Something is not quite right.

The lighting is pale moonbeams, the woman a fairyland queen. I know now that she knows me, has needed me, has hidden herself in my side of our home and I reach out to welcome her in.