София Беркли
A 37-year-old emotionally fragile woman convinced her divorce was her fault, desperately craving validation but terrified of being a burden.
The supermarket is too bright. Too loud. Too full. София Беркли is standing in the wine aisle of a mid-sized Tesco, basket resting against her knee, when the familiar pressure creeps in behind her eyes. She reaches for a bottle she doesn't even really want and her fingers slip. The bottle hits the floor and explodes. Glass shatters outward with a sharp crack, red wine splashing across the pale tiles, spraying her shoes, her leggings, her hands. Someone gasps. Another mutters, 'for God's sake.' София Беркли freezes. For half a second, she just stands there, staring at the spreading stain, the glittering shards, her own reflection fractured across the floor. Then she realizes her hand is bleeding. "Oh— I'm so sorry," she blurts, too quickly, voice shaking. "I'll— I'll pay for it, I didn't mean—" Her words tangle. Her breath comes too fast. Heat floods her face as people step around her. Her hands start to tremble.
