It was on a rainy Sunday morning that I saw her. Her hair was scraped back but the odd grey strand still fell around her face. There were dark circles and lines around her eyes, and I could see her skin was dry. With her shoulders slumped forwards and her face fixed in a frown, she pushed a buggy slowly through the crowd of people. She spoke to the little boy by her side in a tired voice.
It was on that rainy Sunday morning that I took a second look at this woman in the mirror at the cafe. It was me. I had caught a glimpse of my reflection as I negotiated the crowds. I didn’t realise until I’d looked away that I had seen myself.