Six months. It had been six months since the divorce was finalized, and six months since Sarah had felt like anything other than "Leo’s Mom" or "The Junior Architect." Her life was a carefully constructed house of cards: school runs, client meetings, grocery lists, and exhausted sleep.
She looked at her reflection in the darkened glass. She was thirty-four, but in the dim light, she felt a hundred. "Enough," she whispered. Six months
The next morning, as she made Leo’s oatmeal, Sarah hummed a tune she hadn't thought of in years. She was still a mom. She was still an architect. But she had a secret now—a glowing ember of a life that belonged only to her. And as she kissed Leo’s forehead, she realized that being a better version of herself made her a better mother, too. She was thirty-four, but in the dim light,
The rain drummed a steady, rhythmic beat against the window of Sarah’s small apartment, a sound that usually brought her peace. Tonight, however, it felt like a countdown. She was still a mom