I don't know if this even counts as a confession, it's not like I did anything wrong, but… lately, I just feel so… empty. My youngest, Leo, left for college last month. First one to go to a school far away, the other two stayed close. We were all teary, a big family hug at the dorm, you know the drill. And then I drove home, just me and Mark, and the house was so quiet. TOO quiet. My whole life for the past twenty-plus years has been about these kids. Carpools, bake sales, soccer games, parent-teacher conferences. Being "Leo's mom" or "Chloe's mom" or "Noah's mom." And now… now I’m just… me. And I don’t even know what that means anymore. It’s not like I didn’t know this day was coming. Everyone says enjoy every moment, they grow up so fast, blah blah blah. And I did. I really did. I loved it, mostly. The chaos, the noise, the endless demands. It gave me a purpose. A really big, important purpose, I thought. And now that it’s gone, it’s like someone just… turned off the lights. I keep trying to find things to fill the time. I started that knitting project I’ve been meaning to do for years, but after an hour I just sort of stare at it. Mark's busy with work, always has been, and honestly, we don't have that much to talk about once the kids aren’t the main topic. It’s like we forgot how to be just us. And then there's my mom. She’s not doing so hot. Dementia, slowly getting worse. Every time I call her, she asks me the same questions, and I feel this pang of guilt that I’m not there, hundreds of miles away. My sister lives closer, so she gets stuck with most of it, but I hear it in her voice, how tired she is. I should be there more. I know I should. But then I think, what would I even *do*? I just don't know who I am anymore outside of being a mom, and that’s a really scary thing to admit, even here. Like I’m a ghost in my own house.