Emptiness sits beside me, a shadow on the passenger seat, as I drive my boys to safety, through days that stretch too long, and nights that come too soon.

She still wears the mask, still plays the role, pulling at strings that unravel me, until there’s nothing left to tie, nothing left to fight, and I wonder if she even sees the damage, or if she’s too lost in her own story, a story where she’s always the hero, and I am just a villain in her way.

Her words spin, twist, and bite, the echo of a voice that used to be home, now a hurricane I can’t escape, a storm that I brace for, again and again, no shelter, no calm, just endless waves of blame.

But I hold onto this wheel, knuckles white, eyes forward, with two little lights in the backseat, that keep me moving, even when I’m tapped out, even when the road seems endless, and my mind screams for rest.

I watch them through the mirror, their laughter like a spark in the dark, a reminder that the fight is not for her, but for them, for the smiles that cut through the fog, for the moments when they look at me, and I see trust, I see love, I see the reason I keep going.

I’m a mountain worn down to a hill, yet here I stand, empty, drained, but still here. Still driving them through, still their steady hand, even when mine trembles in the dark, even when the weight of it all feels too much to bear.

I am tired, worn thin, but I am their anchor, their shelter, and in the quiet moments, when they lean on me, when they rest their heads, I find just enough strength, to face another day, to keep the shadows at bay, to keep holding on, for them, and maybe, one day, for myself too.