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Sienna’s POV
They say writing is catharsis, a way to release pain through words. But how can I write when I don’t even know if this pain has left me or if it’s holding me tighter than ever?
The deadline is just a week away. My editor must be getting restless. But I can’t promise anything. I can’t even manage a single sentence. No inspiration. No characters. No plot-except the turmoil inside me that refuses to
settle.
I closed myptop slowly. Not out of surrender, but out of exhaustion. Maybe I just needed fresh air. Something
that didn’t remind me of home, of that tidy but suffocating workspace, of the silent dining table, of Noah
sitting still with a spoon that never touched his lips.
I grabbed my bag and slipped theptop inside. I walked to the small mirror in the living room. My face still
looked like Sienna’s-but something was missing from my eyes. The light that once convinced me writing was
my home. I don’t know where it’s gone.
I stepped out of the apartment, letting the sea breeze kiss my skin, letting sunlight slip through the strands of
my hair. Maybe—just maybe the world outside could offer me a little color. A little warmth. A little inspiration
to write again… and maybe to live again.
My feet wandered along the shoreline, tracing the wet line of sand, letting the wavese and go over my bare
feet. The sea breeze tossed my hair, salty and warm, but not strong enough to quiet the storm in my chest.
I brought myptop, but I never truly intended to write. I just wanted to be still, to stare at the ocean, to let my
mind go nk and my body move without a n.
In the distance, I saw a small family. A father, a mother, and their son,ughing as they ran along the shore,
chased by waves and embraced by warmth. The sound of theirughter was simple and clear, but it hit me harder than any crashing wave. I watched them too long, something slowly rising inside me.
Jealousy. Yes. Jealousy. Not of their happiness-but because I had lost the chance to create that kind of moment
with Noah.
Then suddenly, the sound of crying shattered my thoughts.
I froze. My breath caught. That cry… so familiar. Sharp, slightly hoarse, and heartbreaking. I knew that voice. I
knew it so well.
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“Noah?” I whispered, and without thinking, I ran-following the sound that pulled every instinct I had as a mother. My feet moved fast, weaving through a small crowd already looking in the same direction. There was a
little boy, small and alone, sitting on the sand with his face buried in his hands. His sobs hadn’t stopped.
My heart exploded. My chest tightened.
I reached out. “Noah…” I gasped as I touched his shoulder, and slowly, the boy turned to look at me.
“Mommy?” he said, and I froze.
It wasn’t Noah.
That face wasn’t my son’s.
My lips trembled. My hand slowly dropped from his shoulder. The world grew quiet, even though the noise of
the crowd remained. I just stood there, frozen, my body drained of strength.
A woman rushed over, her face full of panic. She wrapped the child in her arms. “Sweetheart, what happened?”
Her voice was soft, protective. She lifted him, gave me one confused nce, then walked away, cradling her son
close.
I stayed where I was. The wind stopped. The sound of the ocean was no longer soothing. A tear slipped down my
cheek. I looked down.
I missed Noah. So much.
So much that I was starting to see him everywhere. So much that I allowed myself to believe-just for a
moment—that maybe… he hade looking for me. That maybe he needed me.
But it was just the illusion of a mother who had walked away from her child.
I lowered my head further, wiping away tears with the back of my hand. But the more I wiped, the more they fell. My breath caught in my throat. Nothing soothed me this morning. Not even the ocean, which usually
healed me, now only echoed my pain.
I walked slowly to the edge of the balcony, where I could see further out to sea. The sky was turning pale, and the sound of gulls was faint. I leaned on the wooden railing, crossing my arms over my chest, trying to stop the hollowness that was spreading from my chest through my whole body.
Solitude. Distance. But it turns out that distance isn’t enough to heal. This pain wasn’t about ces or time. It
was about guilt I carried wherever I went.
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I looked down at my palm. Once, a tiny hand had held it tightly. Now it was empty. Cold. And strangely, I had
chosen this.
Was I a coward?
Was I wrong?
Was I… a bad mother?
Those questions came to me every morning. I couldn’t answer a single one honestly. Because I knew—I did leave Noah. I knew he must be asking why. But I also knew that if I had stayed, I might’ve brokenpletely.
And I didn’t want Noah to see his mother broken.
I walked back into the apartment and gently closed the balcony door. I needed to write. Or draw. Or… anything
to quiet my thoughts.
I pulled an old notebook from the small backpack I always carried. It was worn, full of scribbles. Some pages
were poems. Others, personal confessions. And some… unsent letters to Noah.
I opened to a fresh page.
There isn’t a day that goes by without thinking of you. There isn’t a single night that truly feels calm without
you. But Mommy needs time. Mommy needs to learn how to be strong again, so that one day, if youe looking for me, I can say: “I’m ready to be the mother you deserve.”
I closed the notebook quickly. My hands were trembling.
***
I stood in front of the mirror, my hair still half-done, staring at the reflection that felt unfamiliar after a week
of isting myself here. My face looked a bit pale, the dark circles under my eyes still visible, but at least today,
I forced myself to look a little better.
It had been a week since I moved into this small apartment near the beach. Seven days since I left what used to be my home-left Noah… left everything. And today, I had to go out for something more important than just
getting some air.
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