The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime. Willow Vance offered a warm, practiced smile to the elderly couple who shuffled in.

"Morning, Mrs. Gable," she said, her voice smooth and calm.

The woman smiled back. "Morning, dear. You're always up so early." Her husband just nodded, his gaze lingering for a moment on Willow's chest—a common occurrence she'd long since learned to ignore. In the polished steel of the elevator doors, she saw their reflection: the friendly, pretty blonde girl who lived alone at the end of the hall. The mask was perfect.

They will never know, she thought, the smile never leaving her lips as the elevator descended. They see a quiet girl, not the secret she's hiding.

The memory came unbidden, triggered by the scent of bleach in the building's lobby. It was a different kind of clean, but it was enough.

The school bathroom. Her first period. Sterile tile floor, the piercing laughter of girls from an adjacent stall. "Do you smell that?" one whispered loudly. "Smells like... milk?"

Her shirt had two dark, damp patches spreading across her chest. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a terrified bird in a cage of her own bones. This is wrong. It's not supposed to be like this. She'd yanked her jacket tight, a flimsy shield, and fled.

Years later, Willow had learned to hide. Her apartment was a fortress of normalcy. One spare bedroom, however, was a secret workshop with a medical-grade breast pump, deep freezer, and shipping supplies. Her body's sacred function had become a sterile, isolating job.

The doorbell rang. Willow took a deep breath, adjusted her mask of calm, and opened the door. The woman from 3B stood there with a large cardboard box, and right behind her—holding another box—was the new neighbor.

"Your new neighbor helped me bring these up!" the woman chirped before bustling away, leaving them alone.

As the new neighbor stepped forward, the box bottom gave way. Contents spilled across the entryway floor with a clatter: breast pump parts, sterile bags, tubing—the secret tools of her trade scattered like evidence.

Willow froze. The smile shattered. Heat flooded her cheeks as she dropped to her knees, frantically trying to gather the pieces, her fingers trembling too much to grip properly. "It's... it's nothing, don't worry about it..."

She looked up at the woman standing silently in her doorway—the woman who had seen everything.