I watched her plane take off, felt that familiar ache, but it wasn’t... like it used to be. Not that gut-punch crying kind of sad. Just a quiet, dull throb. Fifty-two, my youngest off to uni in Spain — I mean, good for her, right? But now it’s just me and Dave, and honestly, what am I even supposed to *do* all day? The house feels too big, too quiet. I spent all these years being Mum, running around, making sure the bills got paid on time, always something needing fixing or buying, and now... now there’s just *nothing*. It’s a bit shit, innit.