I woke up with Lizzy's voice still ringing in my head. Even though I tried to shake it off, it lingered like an echo I couldn't silence. It wasn't what she said exactly, but the weight behind her words that stayed with me. Her voice had that firm tone, the kind that cuts through all the walls you build around yourself. It was a reminder one that stung that maybe I had been living too much for Maxwell and too little for myself.
The soft morning light slipped through the curtains, spilling gold across the room. The mansion was quiet, too quiet. Normally, I would hear Maxwell's voice on the phone from his study, or the sound of his footsteps in the hall. But today, there was nothing just silence and the faint ticking of the clock on the wall.
I turned in bed, reaching out instinctively, only to find the space beside me cold. My heart sank a little. He was gone.
On his side of the bed, a folded note sat neatly on the pillow. My chest tightened as I reached for it. The familiar handwriting made me smile faintly even before I opened it.
> Had to leave early for a weekend business trip. It came up suddenly. I'll call when I land. Take care of yourself.
— Maxwell.
I held the note for a while, tracing the curve of his letters with my finger. It was just like Maxwell always neat, always brief, always controlled.
A soft sigh escaped my lips. I wasn't angry, not really. Just... empty. I knew his work mattered. I knew he was doing it for both of us. But sometimes, I wished he would just stay even for one morning like this.
Still, I told myself not to overthink it. He had responsibilities. And I benefited from them too the comfort, the luxury, the calm. This mansion, this life... it all came from his hard work. I should be grateful, not sad.
But that didn't stop the ache.
I pulled myself out of bed and slipped into my robe. As I walked through the large hallway, the marble floors felt colder than usual beneath my feet. The housekeeper had already started her chores downstairs, and the faint smell of coffee drifted in the air. Everything looked beautiful the chandeliers, the grand staircase, the carefully arranged flowers in the foyer yet I felt disconnected from it all, like I was walking through someone else's life.
Lizzy's voice crept back into my mind again, faint but unshakable.
The thought stayed. Maybe she was right. Maybe I needed something , something that belonged only to me.
I went to the kitchen, poured myself a cup of coffee, and sat by the window overlooking the garden. The sun was climbing higher now, and the light shimmered on the leaves. The gardeners were already at work, trimming and watering, their laughter echoing faintly. For a moment, I envied them. They had something to do something that gave them purpose. I, on the other hand, had nothing but time.
That realization hit harder than I expected.
I had been told not to work. Maxwell wanted me to rest, to enjoy life, to stay away from "stress." And I did, at first. But after a while, the silence became too loud. I couldn't just read all day or sit around waiting for him to return. I needed something more.
"Maybe I really did need a hobby," I whispered to myself. The words sounded strange, even childish, but also freeing.
So, I pulled my phone closer and opened the browser. I typed, hobbies for women at home. The results flooded my screen cooking classes, painting, yoga, pottery, gardening, even knitting. I scrolled slowly, trying to imagine myself in any of them.
"Too messy," I murmured when I saw painting.
"Too quiet," I said when gardening came up.
"Too boring," I whispered at the sight of knitting needles.
I sighed and leaned back. Maybe hobbies weren't for everyone after all.
Just then, my phone buzzed. A new message. It was from Clarissa Gale.
> Hey Rose! Starting a new yoga batch this morning. Want to join us? It's fun, relaxing, and good for the mind. You should come!
Normally, I would have politely turned her down. I didn't like her crowd much — too loud, too perfect, always dressed like they were on magazine covers. But today felt different. I didn't want to stay home staring at the walls again.
"Yoga, huh?" I said softly, rereading the message. "Maybe that's something."
I quickly typed back,
> Sure. I'll come.
As soon as I hit send, I realized I didn't even own yoga clothes. I laughed quietly at myself and decided to just wear something simple. I pulled on a pair of stretchy pants, an old T-shirt, tied my hair back, and grabbed my car keys.
The drive to the studio was peaceful. The city felt half asleep, the Saturday morning breeze warm against the windows. I parked outside the large glass building that had "Breathe Yoga Studio" written in silver letters across the front.
Inside, the place smelled of lavender and essential oils. The room was softly lit, and calm music played in the background. I spotted Clarissa almost immediately tall, slim, her blonde hair in a perfect bun. She waved when she saw me.
"Rose! You made it!" she said cheerfully, hugging me lightly.
"I did," I replied with a small smile. "Don't know how long I'll last, though."
"Oh, nonsense. You'll love it. It's all about letting go and relaxing."
I smiled again, though I wasn't sure if I believed her.
We took our places on the mats as the instructor a man named Zain,entered the room. He had that overly calm voice and a charming smile that seemed to make the other women melt.
"Good morning, ladies," he said softly. "Let's center our energy."
The class began with slow stretches. At first, it wasn't bad the music, the breathing, the warmth in the room. But as the minutes passed, I started feeling... uncomfortable. Zain moved around, adjusting people's postures, touching their arms, their backs, even their hips. The women smiled, giggled, or leaned into it.
When he got closer to me, I froze.
"Relax your shoulders," he murmured, placing his hands lightly on me.
I nodded quickly, stepping slightly away. "I'm fine," I said softly.
He gave a small smile and moved on, but I could feel my pulse racing.
It wasn't that he was inappropriate. It was just... wierd.
I looked around the room, at the other women stretching and laughing, and suddenly, I felt out of place. This wasn't me. I didn't belong here.
By the time the class ended, I already knew I wouldn't be coming back.
Clarissa walked up to me with her usual bright smile. "So? How was it?"
I tried to smile, but it came out weak. "Honestly? Not my thing."
She tilted her head. "Too slow for you?"
"Not really," I said, half laughing, half serious.
She laughed. "You'll get used to it. Zain is amazing once you attend more classes."
"I don't think I'll be attending again," I said quietly.
Clarissa looked at me for a moment, her expression softening. "You didn't like it at all, did you?"
I shook my head. "No I didn't "
She gave a sympathetic smile. "Then maybe yoga isn't your thing. What about something calmer, like pottery? I've been taking classes lately. It's quiet, relaxing... and you can make something beautiful with your hands."
"Pottery?" I repeated, raising an eyebrow. "Isn't that for kids?"
She laughed. "Not at all! You'd be surprised how peaceful it is. You should try it."
I smiled faintly and shrugged. "Maybe."
But deep down, I had already brushed off the idea. Pottery sounded silly. I could almost see myself sitting in a circle shaping clay while others giggled over their cups and bowls. No, that wasn't me.
As I walked out of the yoga studio and stepped into the soft afternoon sunlight, I realized that for the first time in a long while, I had tried something for myself. It hadn't worked out not yet but at least I had started.
Still, as I drove home through the quiet streets, Lizzy's voice returned again softer now, like a whisper at the edge of my mind.
Maybe she had been right after all.
But as for pottery? I smiled to myself. No. Not a chance.