I saw her today. Not like, *saw* her saw her, but like, I was cleaning out the recycling bin in the office kitchen and she was at the counter, kinda hunched over, pouring from a bottle into her fancy metal water thing. It wasn't water. Not clear like water. It was clear like... like the stuff Dad keeps under the sink, the stuff that makes you cough if you smell it too close. Vodka. It was vodka. My stomach kinda did a flip-flop. Like when you're on a swing and you go really high and for a second you forget how to breathe. She didn't see me. Her back was to me. Her hair was pulled back real tight, like it was trying to escape her head but couldn't. She had on this crisp white shirt, the kind that looks like it cost more than all my clothes combined, and it kinda wrinkled in the back where she was bent over. Like a crumpled piece of paper you don't wanna look at. She put the bottle back in her big, expensive purse, the kind that probably holds a tiny dog or something. Then she capped the water bottle real tight and took a big gulp. Her eyes kinda squeezed shut for a second. Like she was trying to swallow something that tasted really bad, but she HAD to. I swear I could almost smell it from across the room, even over the coffee grounds and stale office air. It was a sharp smell, like rubbing alcohol, but somehow... softer? Like it was trying to hide. Then she straightened up, smoothed her shirt, and walked out. Like nothing had happened. Like she hadn't just chugged poison out of a fancy water bottle in the middle of a Tuesday afternoon. And I just stood there, holding a half-empty sparkling water can, feeling... small. And dumb. And like I had seen something I definitely wasn't supposed to see. It got me thinking, you know? About my mom. And her pills. Not the same, I know. But kinda the same. The way she tries to hide it, the way her eyes look after she takes them, all glassy and far away. Like she's trying to float above everything for a bit. My mom, she gets tired. Really tired. From working two jobs and still worrying about the electric bill. Her hands are always kinda shaky by the end of the day. This lady, though. She's got the fancy clothes, the big office, the car that shines in the sun. She probably doesn't worry about the electric bill. Or if there's enough food until payday. So why... why was she doing that? Hiding it in her water bottle like some secret shame. Like it was something she *had* to do, but knew it was wrong. It’s been a couple weeks since that day. I still see her around. Always dressed nice, always smiling those kinda tight smiles at people. Like her face is stuck that way. Sometimes I catch her eye and I always look away fast. Because I know her secret. And she doesn't know I know. And it makes me feel weird. Like I'm carrying something heavy for her, and it's not even mine. And honestly? It makes me kinda scared. Like, is this what being a grown-up is? Having to hide your pain in a water bottle or a pill bottle just to get through the day? To smile like everything's fine when you're crumbling inside? I always thought when you got older, things would get easier. You'd have your own money, your own place. But maybe it just means you get better at hiding the hard stuff. Sometimes I think about what it must feel like to be her, to have all that... fancy stuff, and still need that swig of vodka just to face a meeting. It’s like she’s got a whole different kind of paycheck-to-paycheck thing going on. Not with money, but with... feeling okay. And it's kinda messed up, honestly. Makes me wonder if anyone ever REALLY feels okay. Or if we're all just filling up our own secret water bottles with whatever gets us through. And now I can’t stop looking at people differently. Like, what are *they* hiding? What’s in *their* water bottle? It’s probably nothing, most people are normal. But a little part of me, the part that saw that clear liquid pouring, it wonders if everyone's just holding onto something too heavy to show. It’s a real laugh, innit? The things you see when you’re just trying to take out the damn trash. Ha. Ha.