I guess I'm just… here. In the dark, again. Scrolling, just scrolling, knowing I should be sleeping but my brain won't shut up. It’s almost 2am and the house is so quiet it practically hums. Not like quiet in a good way, you know? Like after a long day and everyone’s asleep and it’s peaceful. No, this is the other kind of quiet. The kind that screams. My kids, they're grown now. Both off at uni, then living their lives. And that’s good, it’s what you want for them. To be independent, to be happy. Mi vida, you work so hard for that. You give up so much, you put everything into raising them and then poof, they’re gone. Not gone gone, obviously. They call. Sometimes. Usually when they need something, or for a quick ‘how are you’ that doesn’t really demand an answer. But it’s not the same. It’s just… emptier. Weekends are the worst. Saturday mornings, I used to wake up to the smell of pancakes, or some ridiculous cartoon blaring from the living room. Now it’s just… me. The dog, I guess. He’s a good boy, but he doesn’t really fill the silence, does he? I try to make plans. I really do. I go to that painting class, which is fine, I mean, the teacher is nice and I like the colours. And I joined a book club. But it’s all just… doing things. Not living, you know? Not like when the kids were little and every day was an adventure, even the hard days. Especially the hard days, sometimes. I remember this one time, Daniel, my youngest, he must have been about eight. He had this little red wagon and he decided he was going to ‘deliver mail’ to all the neighbours. So he filled it with all these crayon drawings – stick figures mostly, with giant smiley faces – and went door to door. And I just watched him from the porch, this little ball of pure joy and determination, and I just thought, this is it. This is what it’s all for. And now, he’s a software engineer in Berlin. Berlin! I mean, I’m proud, obviously. So incredibly proud. But it’s just… far. And then there’s my mom. Bless her heart. She’s… not doing so well. Dementia, they say. It’s been happening for a while but it feels like it just sped up, you know? I’m here, in California, and she’s still in New York. I call her every Sunday. Every. Single. Sunday. And half the time she doesn’t know who I am. Or she thinks I’m my sister. My sister who died almost twenty years ago, for god’s sake. And I try to explain, ‘No, Mama, it’s me, it’s Elena. Your daughter.’ And sometimes she gets it, for a minute, and then it’s gone again. Poof. The guilt is a constant hum in the background. Like a low-grade fever you just can’t shake. I should be there. I know I should be there. My brother, he’s closer, he sees her more. But he has his own family, his own life. And I just… I don’t know. I’m divorced, going on ten years now. My ex-husband remarried, has a whole new family. He seems happy. Which, good for him, I guess. It’s just me here. And the dog. And the silent weekends. Sometimes I think about what I gave up. For the kids, for the family. My art, for one. I used to paint, before. Really paint. Not just little landscapes in a class, but big, messy, expressive things. But there was no time, no space, no money. And I don't regret it, not really. Because my kids are amazing. They’re everything. But now that they’re gone, it’s like… what am I left with? Just this big, empty space where all that used to be. I tried dating, too. A couple times. It was… weird. Like trying on clothes that don't quite fit anymore. Or never did. The last guy, he was nice enough. We went out for coffee, then dinner. He talked a lot about his yacht. His yacht! I mean, who has a yacht? I just kept thinking, this is not my life. This is not what I want. Or maybe it is and I just don’t know how to want it anymore. I don’t even know what I want. Just for the quiet to stop screaming. Or for someone to call and actually want an answer. So yeah. That’s it. Just… here. Another Saturday night, or what’s left of it. Alone. Thinking about my mom in New York, and my kids in Europe, and this big house that suddenly feels too big. And wondering if this is just… it. My life now. And if so, how do you even… fill it?