Leaving It All Behind

The morning came gently, filtering through her blinds in fractured stripes of gold. Eli blinked awake slowly, her body still half-asleep, her mind floating between yesterday and today. For a second—just a second—she forgot what day it was. But then the weight of it returned, soft but certain.

Eighteen.

She didn't feel different.

She had expected a shift, some internal click, as if turning a year older would realign the universe around her. But her room still smelled like sleep. Her hair was still messy. The world still felt too big, and she still felt too small.

She lay there in the quiet for a while, the ceiling above her blank and still. The stars she'd watched the night before had faded back into invisibility with the sunrise. Just like childhood. There one moment, gone the next.

Downstairs, she could hear the clatter of her mom in the kitchen—mugs being set on the counter, the low gurgle of the coffee pot. It was a routine as old as her memories. Comforting. Predictable. Eli suddenly wondered how many more mornings she'd wake up to that sound before things changed. Before she moved out. Before "home" became a different place.

She didn't want to think about that.

She reached for her phone. Notifications were already flooding in. Messages. Posts. Birthday texts from classmates she barely spoke to. An auto-generated slideshow of old photos from her phone's gallery, titled "Look How Far You've Come!" She swiped through them in silence. Kindergarten graduations. Summer camp. Her first phone. A selfie with her father—years before the divorce, before the silence between them grew so wide it felt like a second ocean.

The app's background music played softly, some pre-programmed nostalgic piano loop meant to make her feel proud. But Eli only felt hollow.

The photos ended. A cheerful banner popped up: "Eighteen Looks Good On You!"

She locked her screen without smiling.

There was a knock at her door.

"Come in," she said quietly.

Her mom peeked inside, holding a small plate with a muffin on it and a single candle flickering in the middle. "Happy birthday, baby."

Eli sat up and tried to smile. "Thanks, Mom."

"I know you didn't want a big thing this year," her mom said, placing the plate on her nightstand. "But... a candle felt right."

Eli stared at the flame. Small. Flickering. Temporary.

Her mom sat beside her. "Eighteen, huh? You feel any older?"

Eli shook her head. "I feel like... everyone else expected me to."

Her mother laughed gently. "Everyone else expects a lot of things."

There was a long silence.

"Do you remember," Eli said, "when I used to make you check my closet for monsters every night?"

Her mom smiled. "Of course. You had rules. I wasn't allowed to check too fast."

"Yeah," Eli said, her voice quiet. "Because I thought if you missed one, it would come out as soon as you left."

Her mother reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind Eli's ear. "You always wanted to be sure."

Eli looked down. "I think I'm still scared of monsters. They just look different now."

Her mom didn't speak right away. She just leaned over and kissed her daughter's forehead. "That doesn't make you less grown-up. It just makes you human."

Another long pause. And then Eli asked the question that had been floating in her chest since midnight.

"Is it normal to feel like I'm leaving something behind?"

Her mother looked at her, eyes soft and knowing. "I think it's normal to grieve who you used to be. Especially when you really loved her."

That hit Eli in a place she didn't have words for.

She watched the candle burn. The wax dripping slowly down the side of the muffin.

After her mom left, she got up and opened her closet. Not to check for monsters—but just to look. Just to stand in the small space where she used to hide during thunderstorms and pretend it was a spaceship.

She found an old box tucked in the back. Dusty. Unlabeled. Inside were childhood drawings, glitter crafts, a letter she'd written to her future self when she was twelve. She read it slowly.

"I hope you're brave. I hope you still smile when you see fireflies. I hope you don't stop dreaming, even if people say you should. And if you ever feel sad, just remember I'm still here. I'm you. I always will be."

Eli sat on the floor for a long time after that.

Not crying. Not smiling. Just... remembering.

It was her birthday. She was eighteen.

And for the first time, she didn't feel like she had to rush into anything.

She just had to carry the pieces of herself that mattered.

Even the small ones.

Especially the small ones.