She loves that time of day.

When the house is no longer a mess. To see that dark room at the end of the hallway. The warm water on her skin as she learns to ignore the crying illusion the dripping water creates and the quiet. She loves the quiet.

The dinner she can eat in peace. Slowly. Alone and sometimes together.

Netflix. The clean pj’s. Feeling fresh at the end of a day, even more so than at the start.

She remembers how she put her to sleep. And smiles. How she told her about what they did today and what they’ll do tomorrow. How she hugged her and sang to her. How her baby looked at her, knowing more than she could say.

She shakes off the imperfections of the day, breaths deeply into herself and misses her.