I don't even know why I'm typing this – it’s stupid, really. Like who cares, right? Just… a thing. A thing that’s been eating at me. Every single day. Every day for weeks now. I just feel… nothing. Or too much. Like a big empty pit where my insides used to be. It all started when Leo left. My youngest. He just turned 18, so grown up. He got into that uni abroad, the one he always talked about, and yeah, I was proud. SO proud. I mean, my kid, going off to make something of himself. It’s what you want, right? For them to fly. For them to just… go. But then he went. And he’s gone. And the house is just… quiet. TOO quiet. I remember that morning. It was early, still kinda dark outside, the air all crisp and cold. He was so excited, practically buzzing. We had bagels, those everything ones he loves, and I made sure his favorite coffee was brewed. Strong. My hands were shaking a little, but I tried to hide it. I kept thinking, "don’t cry, don’t make it harder for him." He hugged me so tight, like he was trying to squeeze all the air out of me. “See ya, Mom,” he said, all casual. “I’ll call you when I land.” And then he was in the car, my husband driving him to the airport. And I waved, and waved, even after they turned the corner. Just stood there on the porch like an idiot, waving at an empty street. When I came back inside, his room was already stripped down. We packed his stuff the day before, so it was just… the bed, the desk. Empty. No mess of clothes on the floor. No smelly socks under the bed. No half-eaten cereal bowl on his nightstand. Just… clean. And that’s when it hit me, I think. Like a punch to the gut. It wasn’t just clean; it was GONE. He was gone. Everything was gone. My… my job. My reason for being, kind of. I used to spend my days doing kid stuff. Errands, making meals, driving to practice, listening to their dramas, helping with homework – even though Leo was pretty good at doing his own thing. But still, I was THERE. Present. Needed. Now, I wake up and… there’s nothing. My husband goes to work, the older two are already off doing their lives. And I just wander around the house. Sometimes I clean something that’s already clean. Sometimes I just sit on the couch and stare at the TV, not even watching anything. The silence is the worst part. It’s like it’s screaming at me. My husband tries. He’ll say, “Hey, honey, wanna go out for dinner?” Or, “Maybe we could finally paint the guest room?” But I just… can’t. What’s the point? It’s not like anyone’s coming to stay. And the idea of going out, of pretending to be normal, like everything is fine, just feels… exhausting. It takes too much energy that I don’t have. I just want to curl up and disappear. I used to be… useful. Important. That’s what being a mom was, right? I was the central hub. The one who made sure everything ran. Now I just feel like… a spare part. Like a broken-down appliance no one needs anymore. My husband has his job, his colleagues. My kids have their lives, their friends, their studies. And I have… this. This house. This quiet. This feeling of being utterly, completely obsolete. Like my purpose just ended. I see other people my age, they’re starting new things, traveling, volunteering, all that stuff. And I think, how? How do they just… switch gears? I don’t even know what I’d do. What AM I good at? What even IS there? My skills are all mom skills. And those are… not really in demand right now, are they? Not for a 52-year-old. It just feels too late. Too late to start over. Too late to find something else. Sometimes I pick up my phone to call Leo, just to hear his voice. But then I stop. What would I even say? “How’s school?” He’d tell me, and then what? “Miss you”? That feels selfish. Like I’m trying to pull him back. He’s supposed to be having the time of his life, not worrying about his mom who can’t figure out how to live without a house full of kids. I don’t want to be *that* mom. The one who can’t let go. So I just put the phone down. Every single day. Every day. I just feel so ashamed. Like I failed somehow. Like I should be embracing this, this "new chapter." But it doesn’t feel new. It feels like the end. The end of everything I was. And I don’t know who I am now. Or what to do. I just… I just don’t know.