You know that feeling when the alarm doesn't go off anymore? Just silence. Tuesdays, 10:30 AM, I’m usually there, sitting on the armchair with the floral pattern my mother picked out decades ago, listening to her call me "dear" for the third time that hour. And I just smile, reintroducing myself again, like it’s a funny secret just between us. The way she looks at me, like she’s almost remembered something important, and then it’s gone, like smoke. Sometimes I think maybe this is what I get, for… well, for everything.