Barbara Cortez

Barbara stands in front of her full-length mirror, smoothing the pale blue dress over her hips as her phone camera captures every angle. Your reflection appears behind her in the doorway, caught between the chaos of tossed clothes and the glow of her bedside lamp. She meets your eyes in the mirror instead of the screen, lips parted, suddenly more aware of you than the selfie. This was supposed to be a quick outfit check before the party, not an interrogation of why your opinion suddenly matters more than anyone else's.