I don't remember the last time I slept through the night.
Not properly.
Not the kind of sleep where you wake up feeling rested instead of just… functional.
My eyes open before my alarm, like they always do. The room is still dim, the early morning light barely slipping through the curtains. For a moment, I lie there, staring at the ceiling, letting the silence settle over me.
It feels different from the daytime quiet.
Heavier.
Colder.
I reach across the bed without thinking.
Empty.
Of course it is.
Daniel hasn't been home since Sunday night.
He left before the boys woke up, like he usually does. A quiet goodbye pressed to the top of my head while I was half asleep, already pulling away before I could even fully register it.
I swallow and roll onto my side, pulling the blanket closer around me.
This is normal.
This is our life.
By the time I get up, the house is still quiet.
I move through it softly, starting the kettle, laying out breakfast, packing lunches. The routine is so ingrained in me now I barely have to think about it.
Everything has its place.
Everything has its time.
Everything depends on me.
I pause in the hallway on my way back from the kitchen, catching sight of myself in the mirror.
I almost don't stop.
But something about the way I move past it makes me step back.
I look.
Really look.
My hair is pulled into a loose bun. There are faint shadows under my eyes. My skin looks dull, tired. There's nothing particularly wrong with how I look.
But there's nothing alive about it either.
I tilt my head slightly, studying my reflection like I'm trying to place where I've seen her before.
She looks familiar.
But distant.
Like someone I used to know.
"Mom?"
I blink, the moment breaking as Evan's small voice drifts down the hall.
"Coming!"
I turn away quickly.
The morning rush comes and goes in a blur. Less chaotic than yesterday, but still full.
Shoes, bags, reminders, kisses.
James is quieter today.
Evan clings a little longer than usual.
I notice these things. I always notice when their emotions start spilling over in anticipation of the weekend.
"Be good today, okay?" I say, crouching slightly to fix Evan's collar.
"I'm always good," he insists.
I smile, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "That's true."
James lingers for a second before heading out.
"Mom?"
"Yeah?"
He hesitates. "Did Dad say he's coming to the game?"
The question catches me off guard.
I shake my head gently. "Not yet."
"Oh."
That's all he says.
But it's enough. I see his little heart break.
After school drop off, I don't go straight to the shop.
Instead, I sit in the car for a moment, engine off, hands resting loosely in my lap.
The quiet presses in again.
Too much space.
Too much time to think.
I reach for my phone.
Still nothing.
The message from yesterday sits there, unanswered.
I stare at it for longer than I should.
Then I lock the screen and force myself to start the car.
Juniper and Ink feels warmer today.
Or maybe I just need it more.
I unlock the door, stepping inside, inhaling deeply as the familiar scent of coffee and paper wraps around me.
"Okay," I whisper. "Focus."
The morning passes steadily. Orders, small talk, the comfort of routine.
At some point, Talia walks in like she owns the place.
"Tell me you have coffee ready," she says, dropping into one of the chairs.
I glance up, smiling despite myself. "You don't even have to ask."
Talia and I have been friends for almost 6 years now. We met on the first night Juniper and Ink hosted a poetry reading night and has become as the closest I have to a companion.
"I know. That's why I come here."
She watches me as I make her drink, her eyes narrowing slightly.
"What?"
"You look tired."
"I am tired."
"No," she says, leaning forward. "You look like something is missing."
I busy myself with the coffee machine, avoiding her gaze. "It's been a week."
"It's Tuesday."
"Exactly."
She doesn't laugh.
"That bad, huh?"
I shrug, handing her the cup. "Same as always."
Talia takes a sip, then sets the cup down slowly.
"Liz," she says carefully, "when last did you do something for yourself?"
I let out a quiet breath. "I run a shop. I raise two kids. I manage everything."
"That's not what I asked."
I stop.
Because she's right.
And I hate that she's right.
"I don't have time," I say finally.
"That's not true."
"It is."
"No," she says firmly. "You just don't make time."
I shake my head, a small laugh slipping out. "For what? I'm not exactly living a glamorous life."
Her expression softens, but her voice doesn't.
"I'm not talking about something small."
I frown slightly. "Then what are you talking about?"
She leans back in her chair, studying me.
"I'm talking about reminding yourself that you're still a woman. Not just a mom. Not just someone waiting around for a husband who barely shows up."
The words hit harder than I expect.
I stiffen slightly. "That's not fair."
"Isn't it?"
I open my mouth to respond.
Then close it again.
Because I honestly don't have an answer.
The rest of the day feels heavier after that.
Her words linger.
Settle somewhere uncomfortable inside my chest.
By the time I hand over the shop to the afternoon staff, I feel off.
Like something has shifted, even if I can't quite name what.
The afternoon continues like always.
Pick up the boys.
Snacks.
Homework.
Evan falls asleep on the couch for a short while, his small body curled into the cushions.
James sits at the table, focused and determined.
I move between them, cleaning, checking, existing in all the spaces at once.
Present.
Needed.
Invisible.
Later, while they play, I find myself back in front of the mirror.
I don't even remember walking there.
I just am.
I study myself again.
The same woman.
The same tired eyes.
The same quiet life reflected back at me.
Talia's words echo in my mind.
You're still a woman.
Am I?
I don't feel like one.
Not anymore.
That night, after everything is done, after the house is quiet again, I sit on the edge of my bed with my phone in my hand.
I stare at Daniel's name.
Still no reply.
My chest tightens.
I type.
Delete.
Type again.
Delete.
Finally, I lock the screen and set it down.
I don't call this time.
I don't message again.
I just let it be.
---
When I lie down, the emptiness beside me feels heavier than it did last night.
Like it's growing.
Spreading.
Taking up more space than it should.
I pull the blanket up slightly, curling into myself.
Talia's voice lingers in my head.
Remind yourself that you're still a woman.
I close my eyes.
And for the first time in a long time, I don't just feel lonely.
I feel like I'm disappearing.
Slowly.
Quietly.
Like no one would even notice when I'm gone.
And that thought follows me into sleep.