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Molly

The early morning sunlight streams in through the curtains. My eyes blink, confused about what day it is and why my alarm hasn’t gone off.

But then it all comes flooding back. Today is the first time in years that I don’t have an alarm clock set or a list of things I need to do.

No. Today is my first day of being unemployed.

There’s no checklist.

No emails to answer.

No schedule to organize.

There’s nothing.

It feels odd.

I’m actually at a loss for how I feel.

On the one hand, it’s nice to be able to catch a few extra hours of z’s, but on the other, now what do I do with my life?

Who am I, if not Dane’s assistant?

Flipping over in the bed, I look at Hudson’s spot—it’s empty.

I’m all alone.

Hudson probably left a few hours ago for practice.

Grabbing my robe, I throw it on, head downstairs, and grab a cup of coffee before taking a seat. The house is quiet except for the soft hum of the fridge in the kitchen. I sit at the table drinking.

I should feel relieved.

Then why don’t I?

This is a blessing.

Then why doesn’t it feel that way?

For years, I’ve worked tirelessly for Dane, putting his needs above my own.

Now, I finally have a chance to focus on myself. To figure out what I want.

But the truth is, I have no idea where to start.

The first day is the hardest. After I get dressed, I leave the house with no destination in mind, just walking aimlessly down the quiet streets of Hudson’s neighborhood.

The air is cool, and the early fall leaves crunch beneath my boots as I walk.

I used to dream about what it would be like not to work for Dane.

Now I’m scared to find out.

Sure, I haven’t worked for him for a few days here and there, but never more than two months.

What do I do now?

Where do I work?

I stop at a small park and sit on a bench.

A group of kids play, their laughter so loud I can’t help but smile.

When was the last time I felt that carefree?

I can’t remember.

No. That’s not true.

At the farm.

At the rink.

With Hudson.

All the days blur since Dane fired me.

Sometimes I end up at the same park. Other times, I find myself wandering through shops. I walk a lot. Never a destination in sight. Hudson doesn’t ask what I do all day, and I don’t offer. He has his own shit to worry about. Like his wrist.

But every evening, when he comes home, he looks at me like he’s trying to figure out what’s going on in my head.

“You doing okay?” His arm rests in a sling while we half-watch a TV show.

“Yeah,” I say automatically, even though it’s not entirely true.

His eyes linger on me for a moment before he nods. “If you need anything . . .”

“Thanks.”

He doesn’t push, and I’m grateful.

One afternoon, I find myself at a small bookstore. That’s where I find a book that piques my interest.

Finding Purpose After the Unexpected.

I pick it up, turning it over in my hands. The irony isn’t lost on me, but something about the title tugs at my chest.

Back at the house, I sit at the kitchen table and start to read. I don’t know what I’m expecting.

Maybe the secret to life.

A magical solution.

Heck, maybe even a roadmap, but the pages are filled with actual stories of people who almost lost hope but found their way.

One passage stands out: “Sometimes, starting over doesn’t mean finding something new. It means rediscovering what you’ve always loved.”

I stare at the words for a long time. What have I always loved?

The truth is, I don’t know.