I close the door and say goodbye — goodbye to a now-empty house I desperately wanted to make a home.

I close the door and say goodbye — goodbye to the hopes and dreams I clung to, the ones that kept me wanting when the silence was deafening and all I could do was try to sleep as the salt stung my cheeks.

I am not the same girl who first walked through those empty rooms, shimmering light in her eyes, on tiptoes with her arms looped around his neck. That light is long gone, replaced by the shell of a woman I barely recognize — always too much, yet never enough.

I close the door and drive, catching my breath as the familiar sting hits my cheeks, grieving the life that could have been.

Then, I unlock and open the door to acceptance — a new start, and tiny paws at my feet.