I’ve been coming to this forum for years, just reading, never thought I’d actually write something. My fingers are a bit shaky tonight. It’s almost 2am and everyone else is asleep. The house is quiet, just the hum of the fridge and the sound of my own breathing. I don’t even know what I’m hoping for, really. Maybe just to get it out. I’m forty. Been married for fifteen years. Three kids. A good life, I guess, the kind you’re supposed to want. We’re not rich, not by a long shot. Every month is a scramble, making sure the bills are paid, food on the table, school clothes for the kids. My husband works hard. He’s a good man. Steady. Predictable. Like a worn-out armchair you’ve had forever – comfortable, familiar, but you don’t really *look* at it anymore. I got a job at the local library a couple of years ago. It’s not much, just shelving books, helping people find things. It’s quiet, mostly. A nice change from the chaos at home. That’s where *she* came in. Maya. She started a few months back, fresh out of college, full of energy. She’s younger than me, by a good bit. Maybe late twenties. She has this laugh that’s like wind chimes, and her hair, it’s all curly and dark, like a storm cloud just before the rain. At first, it was just… pleasant. We’d talk about books, about the library patrons, the usual work stuff. She’s so smart, always recommending things I’d never pick up myself. I started looking forward to my shifts. And then, one day, we were reorganizing the non-fiction section, and the ladder slipped a bit. I nearly fell. She caught my arm, her hand warm and strong. We just stood there for a second, really close, and I could smell something sweet, like cinnamon and old paper, on her. And a switch just FLIPPED inside me. It was like someone had thrown a rock into a still pond. Everything went ripples. I started noticing things. The way her eyes crinkle when she smiles. The way she hums sometimes when she’s concentrating. The way she brushes a stray curl out of her face. And I started wanting to touch her. Not in a crude way, just… to feel the warmth of her skin again. To see if her hair was as soft as it looked. It’s CRAZY, I know. I’m a married woman. A mother. This isn’t supposed to happen. We started having lunch together sometimes, just sandwiches in the break room. One day, she was telling me about a book she’d read, and she got so animated, her hands flying around. She leaned across the table, and her arm brushed mine. And it was like a spark. A jolt. My heart started thumping like it was trying to get out of my chest. I had to excuse myself, went to the bathroom, splashed water on my face. My cheeks were HOT. I looked in the mirror and didn’t even recognize the woman staring back. She looked… alive. Now, every time she’s near, I feel this… buzz. Like a tuning fork vibrating. I catch myself watching her when she doesn’t know I am. My stomach does flip-flops if she smiles at me a certain way. I’ve started wearing nicer clothes to work, trying to make my hair look decent. Things I haven’t bothered with in YEARS. My husband asked me if I was feeling okay, said I was humming more. I just shrugged. How do you tell someone you’re suddenly seeing the world in color again, after fifteen years of greyscale? It’s just… a feeling. Nothing’s happened. Nothing would happen. I’m not that kind of person. But it’s there, stewing under the surface, a pot boiling over a low flame. And some nights, like tonight, I lie awake, staring at the ceiling, and all I can think about is her. And then the guilt washes over me, heavy and cold. My husband. My kids. My whole life. What am I doing? I just… I don't know what to do with this. It feels like I’ve broken something important, just by feeling this way. And there’s no going back to before. The water’s been disturbed.