Hunched shoulders and dragging feet stopped at the door. She inserted the key in the lock and waited until the usual click sounded. Giving the door that little nudge she knew made her entrance all the more silent, she finally entered the house.
Without turning any of the lights on, she threw her jacket onto the coat hanger. If it met the floor she didn’t notice or care about it. In the morning she would pick it up.
Days like these made her wish she had never woken up in the first place. Too much work, too little time, too much pressure, too little patience. An endless cycle of too much and too little without any balance in between.
Resting her head in the door frame of her bedroom (her final destination), she sighed and counted another uneventful day in her calendar. Just another one.
And before finally getting tired of standing and walking to her bed, in a fleeting moment, she wished for a warm chest and a comforting hand on her shoulder, reassuring her it was fine to feel weak and powerless once in a while.