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Charlie’s reason for becoming a psychotherapist stemmed from her childhood.She had her sisters and her mother, but some of her friends had almost no support system.Charlie had been the person everyone went to for advice, so she knew exactly what she wanted to pursue when she went to college.

As her therapy practice grew, Charlie loved the feeling of being able to help her clients deal with life’s most challenging situations.But what if she hadn’t made a different?Had she been fooling herself and hadn’t had an impact on anyone?Could it be possible to be a completely different person professionally than she’d been personally?

When Charlie was younger, she considered herself a feminist.She couldn’t imagine any man walking all over her.So, where did that strong woman disappear to, leaving this weak one who couldn’t end a relationship she didn’t want anymore?She looked up at the poster of Ruth Bader Ginsburg, which still hung above her childhood bed.

“Ruth, you’d never agree to pick up your boyfriend’s mother from the airport because he didn’t want to miss his favorite TV show,” she said.“You would tell him to take a hike.Maybe if I wore a lace collar, I would be that woman who stood up for herself again.”

Carla’s death had prompted Charlie to start dealing with the things she had compartmentalized to get through each day.She realized that the effort it took to hide from her life was way more exhausting now.

Unfortunately, today and most other days, it didn’t matter how tired she felt; she couldn’t fall back to sleep or nap.Her ability to stay awake during the day when she hadn’t slept for many nights before had been an attribute she wore like a badge of honor--a superhero of fatigue.

Charlie’s bladder let her know it wouldn’t wait any longer for her to get up.She headed to the bathroom, tripping on a shoe she’d left on the floor.She grabbed the bedpost to keep herself from falling and she tried to adjust her eyes to the darkness to find the other shoe before she also tripped on that one.Her shoes seemed to hide in places waiting to kill her.

When she made her way into the kitchen to make coffee, she found Morgan had already made a pot and was staring down at the crevices in the wood of the kitchen table.

“You couldn’t sleep either,” Charlie said, not sure Morgan heard her come in.

“Huh?”Morgan said without looking up.

“Sleep?You couldn’t sleep,” Charlie said.

“Is that something we’re supposed to do?”Morgan rubbed the dark circles under her eyes, which seemed more prominent than usual.

After grabbing a mug and pouring herself a cup of coffee, Charlie joined Morgan at the table.Charlie was silent as she scrolled through her phone.

“Why aren’t you talking?”Morgan asked.

“I know you’re not a morning person,” Charlie said.“When we shared a room, if I spoke to you before seven-thirty, you’d throw your alarm clock at me.”

“Well, I’m an adult now.Besides there aren’t any alarm clocks in the kitchen.Although that spatula is looking pretty good.”

“You’re losing your touch.The wooden spoon would do more damage.”

“Don’t give me ideas.”

Morgan got up and handed Charlie a blueberry muffin from a plate on the counter.

“Where did these come from?”Charlie asked.

“I made them this morning.Or it could’ve been last night.I can’t remember.”

“What time did you get up?”

“Which time?”Morgan took a muffin for herself.

Charlie enjoyed her first bite.“These are good.When did you take up baking?”Charlie asked.

“When I stopped drinking, I needed a substitute, and sugar was the next best thing.”

Abby came into the kitchen, yawning.“What’re you doing up?”Morgan asked her.

“Emma has woken up every morning at four-fifty-five since she was born.My body now thinks that’s a normal time to rise and shine, skipping the shine.”She poured herself coffee and joined them at the table.“Don’t have kids.Or if you do…don’t.”Abby smiled.

“We know you love them,” Charlie said.

“I do, during regular work hours,” Abby smirked.

The clock in the living room chimed.“Oh, shut up,” Charlie called out to the clock.