Anna Devane Hayward trudged into the hotel room she shared with her husband, David, and collapsed onto the bed. For a moment she remained there, perfectly still, before getting to her feet again. She paced around the room, restlessly, wringing her hands together, trying to think.
This was usually not a problem. But today, Anna felt as though her mind were in a fog. She remembered the last time she felt like this, and tried quickly to push the memory out of her mind. Instead the fog became more dense, leaving her no better off than she was before.
She climbed on to the bed, pulling her knees toward her. Stress, she thought. That's a perfectly logical explanation for why I feel this way. She frowned, unsatisfied that she couldn't control her emotions, wondering why, of all times, she had to feel this way now.
Rising from the bed decidedly, Anna told herself that she was stronger than whatever "stress" that was getting her down today. In the bathroom, she filled a glass with water and drank it slowly. I'm fine, she declared to herself. Yet her eyes dodged the mirror as if afraid of the reflection they might see.
Anna walked quickly to the door, gripping the knob firmly on her way out. The room she left was quiet, though her mind was not. Her feelings left her uneasy, yet in spite of it all, she strode confidently through the halls, ready to conquer the rest of the day left before her.
I'm going to live my life, dammit! she told herself. And nothing-- or no one-- will stop me. She smiled reassuringly to herself and disappeared into an elevator, beginning her descent.
Her thoughts were almost accurate-- she wasn't about to let anything, or anyone, stop her. Except for one person she'd overlooked: herself.