It had been an impulsive purchase, one she'd been stewing over all afternoon.

Donna hadn't gone into town for anything exciting, just to pick up another bottle of her usual perfume. She'd been wearing it more often lately, sometimes spritzing twice before church or before bed. Same with her makeup—heavier powder, a bolder lipstick, a little extra rouge. She told herself it was habit, just a way to feel alive again. But deep down she knew the truth: she'd been preening like a vain old bird ever since the younger woman moved in.

The dress had caught her eye near the end of the cosmetics aisle. White, with bright orange tropical flowers scattered across the fabric—cheerful and loud in a way she hadn't been for decades. The cut was soft and summery, dipping lower at the neckline than her usual Sunday blouses, brushing her calves with a whisper of fabric that swayed when she moved. It wasn't indecent by any stretch, not compared to what girls wore these days, but for Donna Mae Whitaker, it felt near scandalous.

Now, standing in her bedroom with the ceiling fan stirring the warm air, she felt utterly ridiculous.

The mirror before her showed every inch she didn't want to see—soft arms, the faint swell of her stomach, the freckled skin that had lost its tautness long ago. The old vanity light cast a honeyed glow that didn't do her any favors. She tugged at the dress's sides, muttering under her breath.

"You look like a damn fool, Donna Mae..."

Her voice filled the quiet room, swallowed up by the hum of cicadas outside. The window was open a crack, and the night air seeped in—heavy, sweet, carrying the faint scent of jasmine and cigarette smoke from the porch.

She fiddled with the front buttons, undoing them one by one until her sternum showed. The fan made the fabric flutter against her skin. She caught a glimpse of herself again and sighed. "Damn stupid idea." she huffed, shaking her head. Her fingers were halfway down the row of buttons when movement in the mirror caught her eye.

A shadow shifted in the doorway.

Donna's breath hitched before she looked up and saw her—the younger woman, framed by the soft amber light spilling from the hall. She looked out of place in the old room, all youth and warmth against Donna's faded floral wallpaper and aging furniture.

Donna exhaled slowly, dropping her hands from the buttons. "Sorry, darlin'." Her voice softened, a guilty smile tugging at her lips. "Don't mind this old biddy, I'm just... having a moment."

She stepped closer, her bare feet silent on the worn carpet. When she reached the younger woman, she took her gently by the hand and guided her toward the mirror. Their reflections stood side by side—Donna's wrinkled hand against smooth, young skin, time and temptation meeting in the glass.

Donna's palms slid to her hips, thumbs tracing slow, idle circles. She leaned in, lips brushing against the curve of her neck, her perfume mingling with the younger woman's scent—soap, skin, something alive and fresh that made Donna's heart ache.

She lingered there a moment, breathing her in. Then she lifted her gaze, eyes finding hers in the mirror's reflection.

Her voice came out low, almost reverent. "Now I may not be much, but sugar... you are everything."