Lena had spent years perfecting the art of being okay. She carried her grief in quiet places, tucking it behind polite smiles and well-rehearsed words. Whenever sadness rose in her chest, she silenced it with work, with responsibilities, with the exhausting effort of being strong.

“You’re so resilient,” people would say, as if it were a compliment. As if being untouched by pain was something to be proud of.

Then, one evening, she found herself sitting alone in her apartment, staring at the single cup of tea she had made—out of habit, for someone who wasn’t there anymore. The weight of it pressed against her ribs, heavy, aching.

And for the first time in years, she didn’t push it away.

Tears came, slowly at first, then in waves. She let them. She let herself feel the loss, the love, the rawness of missing someone who had once filled every space in her life. And when the storm passed, she realized something.