Three AM Insomnia

The hallway stretched before her, familiar and hostile in equal measure. Sarah's bare feet made no sound on the hardwood, a ghost in her own life. She couldn't sleep again—the third night this week. The insomnia had arrived with Mark's departure, taking up residence in the empty half of their bed like an unwelcome guest.

She found herself at the back door before she realized she'd moved. The digital clock on the microwave read 3:17 AM. Through the glass, she could see the yard bathed in moonlight, the garden overgrown with weeds she kept meaning to pull but never did. The dog house sat empty in the corner. Barnaby had been dead two years now, but she still caught herself glancing toward his favorite spot on the rug.

"Why do we hold onto things?" Elena had asked over drinks last month. "Phones, grudges, lovers who've already left." Elena, who Sarah had called her best friend since college, who had stopped looking her in the eye months ago. Who had known about Mark's assistant before Sarah did.

Sarah unlocked the door and stepped into the cool night air. The motion-sensor light didn't click on—broken since summer. She stood there in the darkness, listening to the distant sound of traffic on the highway. Always moving, always running somewhere. That was everyone she knew. Running toward the next promotion, the next affair, the next version of themselves they believed would finally be happy.

She remembered Barnaby in his final days, the way he'd still tried to wag his tail even as his body failed him. He had loved without condition, without agenda. Without the careful calculations that governed human relationships.

The night air smelled of rain and neighbor's jasmine. Sarah realized she was crying, silent tears tracking down her face. She wasn't sad, exactly. She was just tired—of the running, of the pretending, of the performance of being fine.

Inside her phone, a text from Elena sat unread: "Coffee this week? Need to talk."

Sarah knew what Elena wanted to say. The apology. The explanation. The request for absolution. And Sarah also knew she would eventually grant it, because that's what you did for friends. You forgave them, even when forgiveness felt like betrayal of yourself.

But not tonight.

She turned back to the house, leaving the door unlocked. The running could wait until tomorrow.