The crack runs through the glass like a vein of ice. You press your thumb against it. It is cold. You are in the city. It is 1893. The factory smoke hangs low. It smells of sulfur and wet wool. You are Margaret. You are the wife. You are the one who watches.

The building is old. It leans. The windows are tall. They are broken. You look out. You see the street. People walk. They do not see you. You are behind the glass. The crack spreads. You watch it move. It is slow. It is quiet. It eats the light.

Your husband, Thomas, is not here. He is at the mill. He is sick. The doctors say it is the lungs. The air is bad. The city is bad. You stay. You watch the glass. You know something. You do not say it. You keep it. It is a curse. It is a gift. You are unsure.

The crack reaches the edge. The glass shivers. It does not fall. It holds. You hold. You are like the glass. You are thin. You are fragile. You are strong. You do not know which.

You remember the day he left. He was healthy. He was strong. He held you. He smelled of soap and sweat. He said, Wait. I will come back. He did not say when. He did not say why. He went to work. He came home late. He coughed. You brought him tea. He drank it. He looked at you. His eyes were dark. They were deep. You saw the crack in his face. It was there. It was always there. You just could not see it then.

Now you see it. You see it in everyone. You see it in the walls. You see it in the sky. You see it in your own hands. Your hands are steady. Your hands are clean. You wash them. You scrub them. The water is cold. It stings. You stop. You dry them. You fold your hands. You wait.

The city moves. The trains pass. They rumble. They shake the floor. The glass rattles. The crack widens. A hairline. A fissure. A wound. You touch it. It is sharp. It cuts your finger. A drop of blood. It is red. It is bright. It is alive. You watch it bead. You watch it fall. It hits the sill. It is gone.

You are not gone. You are here. You are waiting. You are watching. The sun sets. The light changes. It turns gold. It turns gray. It turns black. The streetlights come on. They are yellow. They are dim. They flicker. They buzz. They are like insects. They are like ghosts.

You think of Thomas. You think of his voice. You think of his touch. You think of his breath. It was warm. It was wet. It was heavy. You think of the hospital. The white sheets. The clean air. The sterile smell. You did not go. You could not go. You stayed here. You watched the glass. You knew. You knew he would not come back. You knew he would not want you to see him. You knew you would break. You did not break. You watched.

The crack is wide now. It is a line. It is a river. It is a map. It is a road. It leads nowhere. It leads everywhere. You trace it. You follow it. You go with it. You are in it. You are part of it. You are the glass. You are the light. You are the shadow.

The door opens. It creaks. It is late. It is dark. You do not turn. You know who it is. It is not Thomas. It is a neighbor. Mrs. Gable. She is old. She is thin. She is kind. She is a witness. She stands in the doorway. She looks at you. She looks at the glass. She sees the crack. She sees the blood. She sees you.

You do not speak. You do not move. You are still. You are stone. You are wood. You are iron. You are nothing. You are everything. She steps in. She is quiet. She is soft. She does not ask. She does not tell. She sits. She waits. She is with you. She is the witness. She is the mirror. She sees what you are. She does not judge. She does not pity. She is there.

The room is small. It is cold. It is dark. The glass is gone. It has fallen. It is on the floor. It is shards. It is pieces. It is dust. It is light. It is gone. You are alone. You are free. You are bound. You are free. You are bound.

The night is long. The stars are out. They are far. They are cold. They are bright. They are indifferent. They do not care. They do not love. They do not hate. They are. You are. The city sleeps. The city breathes. The city hurts. The city heals. The city forgets. You remember. You are the memory. You are the scar. You are the mark.

You stand up. Your legs are weak. Your knees bend. You steady yourself. You look at the shards. They glitter. They catch the starlight. They are beautiful. They are terrible. They are true. You kneel. You pick them up. You hold them. They cut your hands. You do not drop them. You hold them. You hold them tight. You hold them until they bleed. You hold them until they break. You hold them until you are them.

You are the glass. You are the crack. You are the light. You are the dark. You are the sound. You are the silence. You are the love. You are the loss. You are the curse. You are the knowledge. You are the truth. You are the lie. You are the woman. You are the wife. You are the watcher. You are the witness. You are the one who knows. You are the one who stays. You are the one who breaks. You are the one who mends. You are the one who lets go.

The morning comes. It is gray. It is wet. It is cold. The sun rises. It is pale. It is weak. It is new. You open the window. The air comes in. It is fresh. It is clean. It is life. It is death. It is the same. You breathe. You inhale. You exhale. You live. You die. You live. You die.

You are not alone. You are never alone. The city is with you. The glass is with you. The crack is with you. The love is with you. The loss is with you. The knowledge is with you. The curse is with you. The truth is with you. The lie is with you. You are with yourself. You are with Thomas. You are with the dead. You are with the living. You are with the future. You are with the past. You are with now.

You walk out. You step into the street. The people are waking. They are moving. They are working. They are living. They do not know. They do not see. They do not feel. They do not know. You know. You see. You feel. You know. You are different. You are the same. You are the crack. You are the glass. You are the light. You are the shadow. You are the witness. You are the story. You are the end. You are the beginning. You are the middle. You are the whole.

You walk. You do not stop. You do not look back. You do not turn. You go forward. You go on. You go through. You go over. You go under. You go around. You go away. You go home. Home is not a place. Home is a person. Home is a memory. Home is a feeling. Home is a pain. Home is a joy. Home is a loss. Home is a gain. Home is a truth. Home is a lie. Home is a love. Home is a curse. Home is a knowledge. Home is a self.

You are home. You are free. You are bound. You are alone. You are with. You are nothing. You are everything. You are the glass. You are the crack. You are the light. You are the dark. You are the sound. You are the silence. You are the love. You are the loss. You are the curse. You are the knowledge. You are the truth. You are the lie. You are the woman. You are the wife. You are the watcher. You are the witness. You are the one who knows. You are the one who stays. You are the one who breaks. You are the one who mends. You are the one who lets go.

The story ends. The story begins. The story is you. The story is me. The story is us. The story is them. The story is the city. The story is the glass. The story is the crack. The story is the light. The story is the dark. The story is the sound. The story is the silence. The story is the love. The story is the loss. The story is the curse. The story is the knowledge. The story is the truth. The story is the lie. The story is the woman. The story is the wife. The story is the watcher. The story is the witness. The story is the one who knows. The story is the one who stays. The story is the one who breaks. The story is the one who mends. The story is the one who lets go.

You let go. You let go. You let go.