I just scrolled past Sarah’s latest post again, another picture of her in a bikini, feet in the sand, captioned something about ‘island life bliss.’ It’s like 2am and I can still see it. My phone screen is reflecting my face, and I look exactly how I feel — tired. It’s been raining for five days straight, just that constant grey outside the window, and Henry is still coughing. Every time I think he’s finally getting over it, he starts up again, like he’s trying to set a new record for longest lingering cold. He wakes up crying, I wake up crying... it's a whole thing. I hit ‘like’ on her picture earlier, of course. It’s what you do. You see your best friend living it up in Aruba, you like the picture, you comment something supportive. ‘Looks amazing, enjoy!’ But really, I’m just sitting here, listening to the rain hit the window, and honestly, the sheer volume of dishes in the sink is getting to me. It's like a scientific experiment in how many dirty plates can accumulate from one small child and two adults who are too wiped to deal with them. The fact that the wet laundry is still in the washing machine is another data point. It’s a weird feeling, this… I’m happy for her, I guess. She deserves a good trip. But it’s also this dull ache, a kind of internal fizzing that just sits there. I keep thinking about how she packed her bag, how she boarded a plane, how she just… left. And here I am, scrolling, while the sound of Henry’s humidifier is the loudest thing in the house. I should probably go check on him again, make sure he didn’t kick off his blanket. It’s just… another day.