We often think of a mirror as a cold, honest judge. We look into it to fix our hair, to adjust our clothes, or to sigh at the tired lines under our eyes. But as a mirror, I see far more than skin and bone. I see the quiet movements of the soul that no one else notices. For a long time, the woman who stood before me was like a shadow. She moved with careful hesitation, rehearsing her “calm face” before the door clicked open. She looked at her reflection and saw only what she had been told she was — too much, not enough, never quite right. I watched her swallow her tears so quickly that her eyes stayed red for hours. But lately, something has changed. The transformation didn’t arrive all at once. It began with a single look — not a glance, but a meeting of her own eyes. She stopped hunting for flaws and started searching for the fire she was told she no longer had. Now, when the house is still, I see her stand taller. She doesn’t just endure the silence; she fills it with her...