She is not posing. She is resting her face. She has survived emails, opinions, a mysterious ache in her left knee, and a conversation that started with “Can I just ask you something quick?”
She stands very still among the flowers because if she moves, someone will need her.
The roses are pale, like her patience. The birds know better than to speak. Time itself is holding its breath.
This is not a dramatic pause. This is a strategic one.
In a moment, she will open her eyes and return to being competent, kind, and helpful. But not yet.
Absolutely not yet.
