Tania

Boxes and Good-byes

Tania sat cross-legged on the bedroom floor, surrounded by half-packed boxes and the scent of fresh detergent.

The afternoon sun filtered through the curtains, painting golden stripes on the bedspread.

Her favorite hoodie—faded blue, worn soft from years of wear—lay draped over her suitcase. She stared at it, unsure whether to take it or leave it behind.

A knock on the door snapped her out of her thoughts.

“Still not done?” her mother asked, leaning in with a tired smile. She looked older than Tania remembered—grief and single motherhood had a way of aging people. “You leave tomorrow, Tan.”

“I know,” Tania replied, brushing a lock of hair from her face. “I just… I don’t know what to take.”

Her mother stepped inside, sitting beside her with a soft sigh. “It’s okay to feel scared. I was scared too, first time I left home.”

she reached for the photo frame on the dresser—the one of all four of them, before everything changed.

“now it’s just me and Junior now,”

I'll miss you a lot she said staring at her daughter with so many mixed emotions in her eyes

“I feel like I’m leaving you both behind.”

Tania said

“You’re not,” her mom said, voice firm but kind. “You’re becoming. That’s not leaving—it’s growing.”

Just then, Junior barged in, holding a toy spaceship and a pout. “You’re really going?”

Tania nodded and opened her arms. He rushed into them, small arms squeezing tight. “I’ll miss you the most, space cadet,” she whispered, tears stinging her eyes.

“You promise to video call me every day?” he mumbled into her shoulder.

“Cross my heart.”

Later that night, Tania stood by her window, staring at the stars. Her room, once a sanctuary, now looked foreign with its empty walls and taped-up boxes. She was leaving tomorrow—to a new city, a new world, and a new version of herself.

She didn't know exactly who she was becoming… but she was ready to find out.

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