The Weight of Waiting

Maya stood at her kitchen counter at 2 AM, the fluorescent light humming above her like an accusation. She was making spinach salad—a ridiculous thing to do at this hour—but sleep had become a stranger since David left three weeks ago. The leaves glistened under the tap as she washed them, the water running cold over her hands, carrying away the dirt that wasn't really there.

On the counter beside her, her phone buzzed. Another notification from the dating app her sister had insisted she download. She ignored it, just as she'd ignored the last seventeen messages. The television droned in the background, some infomercial on cable about revolutionary blenders. David had always watched these late-night programs when insomnia claimed him, his breathing shallow and rhythmic beside her in bed.

She'd caught him that night, not with another woman, but with something worse—with a version of himself he'd never shown her. The lies had unraveled like poorly twisted wire: the gambling debts, the secret apartment, the way he'd been running from his responsibilities for years before they'd even met. The truth hadn't set her free; it had simply transferred the weight from his shoulders to hers.

The spinach went into the bowl, limp and dark in the pale light. Maya stared at it, suddenly nauseous. She'd been doing everything right—eating healthy, going to therapy, showing up to work at the firm where everyone whispered about her divorce behind glass walls. She was moving forward, everyone said. She was healing.

But healing felt suspiciously like drowning.

She turned off the water, watched the last drops spiral down the drain. Outside, footsteps echoed on the pavement—someone running past her building, rhythmic and purposeful. For a moment, she considered grabbing her shoes and joining them, running until her lungs burned and her legs gave out, running until she couldn't remember the way David used to say her name like it was both a promise and a threat.

Instead, she picked up her phone, opened the dating app, and typed a message to the first face that appeared.

'Are you awake?'

The reply came instantly: 'Always.'

Maya set down the phone, turned off the television, and finally, finally let herself cry.