Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one's courage."
— Anaïs Nin
Ailín decided to stop working from home.
Not dramatically.
Not with a manifesto.
Just… one morning, she got dressed, grabbed her bag, and went back to the office.
I watched from my usual spot—arms crossed, judgment ready.
"Oh, look at that," I muttered. "Pants with real buttons. We're rejoining society."
The office felt different from what she remembered.
Brighter.
Louder.
Younger.
Ailín was the head of the translation and subtitling team, and everyone around her seemed to be in their twenties. Fresh faces. Fast fingers. Loud laughter.
They reminded her of her children.
Which immediately made me nervous.
"Let's be clear," I said sharply. "You are not here to adopt anyone. You already raised humans. This is work."
She smiled to herself and sat at her desk.
And something unexpected happened.
She felt… alive.
Her work mattered.
Her opinions were valued.
Her experience wasn't invisible—it was respected.
At lunch, she didn't rush home.
Sometimes she ate with her coworkers.
Sometimes with Andrea.
She learned about new trends, new slang, new ways of seeing the world. Being surrounded by younger people didn't make her feel old.
It made her feel… awake.
"Careful," I warned. "Feeling young is fine. Forgetting you're the adult is not. Your knees still need warm-ups."
Over time, Ailín shared pieces of her life.
Her kids.
Her marriage.
Dylan.
Soon, everyone knew she was recently separated.
And apparently… so did half the city.
…
One night, over dinner, Andrea leaned in.
"So… small update," she said cautiously.
Ailín raised an eyebrow.
"Everyone at Dylan's office knows you separated. And, um… the women are losing their minds."
I perked up instantly.
Oh?
Andrea sighed. "Food. Gifts. Homemade desserts. Compliments. He's like a walking honeycomb."
I nodded sagely.
Of course. The man enjoys being admired. It's his natural habitat.
Andrea continued. "He seems happy. Calm. Enjoying the attention."
Ailín shrugged.
"It's not surprising," she said. "He always liked being the center of attention. Let him enjoy it."
Andrea smiled softly. "You're right. And it's all still recent. I hope he keeps things respectful."
Ailín just smiled and changed the subject.
Work.
Movies.
Life.
I, however, was not done.
"So," I whispered later. "Just curious. How will you feel when he actually starts dating someone?"
She didn't answer immediately.
Men always move on faster, I continued helpfully.
And younger.
Because apparently men age like wine and women… like expired yogurt, according to society.
"You should've listened to me," I added. "This is where you end up alone, lighting candles for saints."
She rolled her eyes.
…
A month passed.
Dylan wasn't mentioned.
Until one afternoon.
Ailín was at work when Andrea called.
Her voice was tight.
"I'm really angry," Andrea said. "And I need to tell you why."
She hesitated.
"They've seen Dylan with someone. Very close. Touching. Gifts are still arriving. And—this is important—he's dressing younger."
Oh.
I smiled.
"Classic signs," I said. "New romance starter pack."
Ailín felt it then.
The pressure in her chest.
The sudden heat behind her eyes.
She knew it would happen.
She just didn't think it would happen so soon.
"There it is," I whispered. "Proof. Men rebuild faster. And you—well—"
Stop.
She closed her eyes.
…
That's when Lucy walked in.
One of the youngest on the team.
She froze when she saw Ailín's face.
"Oh—I'm sorry," Lucy said quickly. "I'll come back later."
Ailín gestured for her to stay.
"No. Please. I actually… need company."
Lucy hesitated, then stepped in.
They talked about a translation.
For thirty seconds.
Then Ailín broke.
"I'm sorry," she said suddenly. "I need to say this out loud or I'll explode."
Lucy nodded. "I'm listening."
And Ailín told her everything.
The separation.
Dylan.
The sadness.
The tightness in her chest.
I scoffed.
"Oh good. Emotional vulnerability with a twenty-something. Excellent plan."
Lucy didn't interrupt.
When Ailín finally stopped, tears spilling freely, Lucy spoke softly.
"You can cry," she said. "I'll sit with you."
Then she began to repeat, quietly, rhythmically:
Nam-myoho-renge-kyo.
Nam-myoho-renge-kyo.
Nam-myoho-renge-kyo.
Ailín cried.
Fifteen minutes passed.
And something strange happened.
Even to me.
I… disappeared.
Not dramatically.
Just—quiet.
Like floating in warm water under a bright sun.
No thoughts.
No commentary.
No fear.
Nothing.
…
When it ended, Ailín felt calm.
Surprisingly calm.
Lucy smiled. "My family practices the Soka Gakkai Nichiren Buddhism. Chanting Nam-myoho-renge-kyo helps us reconnect."
She explained gently.
"You can do it anytime. Anywhere."
Ailín thanked her.
And later, she tried it again.
And again.
Each time, she felt lighter.
Each time, I returned… confused.
Calm.
Stronger.
Different.
I didn't understand it.
But I liked it.
And that worried me more than anything else.
Because something had entered her life.
And for the first time…
It wasn't afraid of shadows.