It's 6:40. The baby slept, or didn't. You're choosing between the blouse that fits and the one that used to.
Your inbox has been waiting for weeks. It doesn't care that your body is still healing. Still feeding. Still on high alert every time you hear a cry that isn't there.
Everyone expects the version of you who left. Including you.
But she's not the one walking back through that door. And no one has told you what to do with the gap.