Jane stood at the kitchen counter, her hands submerged in soapy water. The clinking of dishes was the only sound in the room, a dull, repetitive rhythm that echoed the monotony of her days. Beyond the window, the autumn leaves were beginning to turn, a vibrant display of change that contrasted sharply with the stasis of her life.
Her husband, Mark, sat at the table behind her, his voice rising and falling in a familiar cadence as he complained about his day. The words seemed to float above her head, meaningless syllables that barely registered. It wasn’t that she didn’t care — or maybe it was. Jane wasn’t sure anymore. Somewhere along the line, she’d stopped feeling much of anything.
“Are you even listening, Jane?” Mark’s voice cut through her thoughts, sharp and slightly irritated.
She turned, forcing a smile, “Of course, I am. Just thinking about the errands I need to run tomorrow.”
Mark sighed, folded his newspaper, and stood up. “Well, I guess I’ll just head to bed then.”
“Goodnight,” she replied, turning back to the dishes. She listened as his footsteps faded up the stairs.
When the kitchen was silent again, Jane allowed herself a moment to simply be. Her hands stilled in the water, and she stared out at the darkening sky. The stars would be out soon, small pinpricks of light in the vast blackness. It would have been peaceful if not for the heaviness that clung to her chest.
The next morning, Jane found herself sitting across from her sister, Emily, in a small café. The clatter and hum of conversations surrounded them, a comforting white noise.
“You look tired,” Emily said, her eyes scanning Jane’s face with concern.
“I’m fine,” Jane replied automatically.
Emily set her coffee cup down with a soft clink, leaning forward. “No, you’re not. I can see it, Jane.”
Jane hesitated, her fingers playing with the edge of her napkin. “It’s just… I don’t know who I am anymore, Em. Everything feels so… numb.”
Emily reached across the table, covering Jane’s hand with her own. “You need to do something for yourself. Just one thing. It doesn’t have to be big.”
Jane nodded, but the idea seemed as distant and unreachable as those stars outside her kitchen window.
Over the following weeks, Emily’s words refused to leave her mind. Jane noticed small things — a bookstore she used to love, an old hobby she once had, the way the sun slanted through the trees on her way to the grocery store. Each moment was a reminder of a life she’d somehow let slip away.
One evening, Jane found herself standing at the threshold of what had once been her art room. It was cluttered now with boxes and forgotten things. Hesitantly, she stepped inside, the old wooden floor creaking beneath her weight.
She reached for a box marked ‘PAINTS’ in faded ink, opening it to find tubes of color, some dried and cracked, others still usable. Jane picked up a brush, feeling the familiar weight in her hand.
The next day, Mark came home early, finding her sitting on the floor of the art room, a canvas spread out in front of her, splattered with strokes of vibrant blues and greens.
“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice a mix of confusion and mild disapproval.
Jane hesitated, then met his gaze. “I’m painting.”
Mark frowned slightly, “Shouldn’t you be…” he gestured vaguely, “…you know, taking care of things?”
For a moment, Jane felt the old pressure rise, the instinct to drop everything and fall back into her role. But something in her resisted. “No,” she said quietly, then louder, “No, I need this.”
Mark blinked, taken aback by her resolve. “Alright,” he said finally, a hint of bewilderment in his eyes as he backed out of the room.
When he was gone, Jane turned back to the canvas. It wasn’t perfect — messy, unrefined, but it was hers. For the first time in years, she felt something blooming inside her, a fragile but undeniable sense of belonging to herself.
Later that night, Jane stood at the kitchen window again, watching the stars blink into existence. She wrapped her arms around herself, feeling the cool night air brush against her skin. A small smile played on her lips, and for the first time in a long while, it felt real.