She stood in the kitchen
with the lights off,
waiting for the kettle to
scream.
It never did. She had
forgotten to turn it on.
For a long moment she
just stood there, hands
wrapped around the cold
metal, feeling the hum
of the refrigerator
against her back. The
dark window above the
sink held her reflection —
tired, unsurprised,
still standing.
She turned the kettle
on. This time she
waited.
Some nights, the small
act of finishing what you
started is the only
victory you get. It is
enough.