Months Earlier.

Bella remembers standing at the sink, her sleeves rolled to her elbows, washing dishes with the scent of lemon soap filling the air. A pot simmers gently on the stove, a quiet reminder of how small her world is.

"Mom, you do realize it’s Friday night, right?”

Sophie’s teasing voice from the living room disrupts the calm.

Bella did not turn. She rinses a plate, the water hissing as it hits the porcelain. “I do.”

“And you’re… doing dishes?” Sophie appears in the doorway, a grin pulling at her lips. She is in comfy joggers and a messy bun, holding her phone like a weapon. “Mom, you know that’s not exactly how people celebrate the end of the week.”

“Well,” Bella says, stacking the plate neatly on the rack, “people should try being productive for a change.”

Sophie leans on the doorframe, eyes narrowing playfully. “You mean... 'boring'?”

Bella glances over her shoulder. “I mean responsible.”

“Tomato, tomahto,” Sophie mutters. She walks in, her socks sliding slightly on the tiled floor. “You’re forty-two, not eighty-two. You could, I don’t know...go out. Or at least talk to someone who isn’t me or 'Ms. Funny Shoes' from next door.” She lets out a tiny teasing laugh as she remembers the neighbour's funny shoes.

“I talk to my students,” Bella counters.

“Your students are twelve...and online.” She throws her hands up in feigned exasperation.

“They have verrry interesting opinions about dinosaurs,” Bella replies dryly, reaching for another plate.

Sophie rolls her eyes. “You’re hopeless.”

“And proud of it,” Bella wittily remarks, a faint smile forming on her lips.

But Sophie’s expression softens. “You work too hard, Mom. You stay home all day, cook, clean, and grade papers until midnight. You never… breathe.”

Bella pauses, sponge in hand. The faucet gurgles as the water slows. “Is this breathing thing not overrated?”

“It’s kind of essential,” Sophie teases, stepping closer. “You deserve more than routines and laundry. You deserve someone to laugh with. Someone to text. Someone who...”

“Buys me flowers and disappoints me within six months?” Bella interrupts.

“Mom.” Sophie sighs, a mix of amusement and sympathy. “Not everyone’s like Dad.”

That quiets Bella completely. The plate almost slips in her grip. She rinses it for too long before setting it down. “I know.”

The silence stretches, filled only by the faint bubbling of the stew. Then Sophie, unwilling to let it become heavy, brightens her tone. “So! We need to fix your social life.”

Bella turns to face her, one brow raised. “Fix?”

Sophie lifts her phone, grinning. “Online dating.”

Bella laughs disbelievingly. “Absolutely not.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes!” Sophie blurts out with an air of finality.

Bella shakes her head. “Sophie, that’s for teenagers and people who own cats named Mr. Whiskers.”

“You love cats,” Sophie shoots back.

“I’m allergic,” Bella fires back.

“Details,” Sophie says, waving dismissively, already unlocking her phone. “Mom, it’s the twenty-first century. People meet online, fall in love, and get married. You can’t hide behind houseplants forever.”

“I don’t even have houseplants,” Bella retorts.

“Exactly! That's why you need something to take care of that doesn’t shed and can talk back.” Sophie replies teasingly.

Bella chuckles despite herself, leaning against the counter. “And what makes you think I want to meet someone?”

“I don’t know,” Sophie says, her tone softening. “Because you used to smile more. You used to hum when you cooked. You used to… sparkle.”

Bella blinks, surprised by the word. Sparkle. It sounds almost childish, but it tugs at something deep within her.

Sophie grins, sensing she has hit a gold mine. “Come on, Mom. Just let me make you a profile. For fun.”

"A profile. For fun...with my photo plastered on it, right?" Bella quizzes.

"Yes, Mom...that's how it's done," Sophie encourages.

“No photo,” Bella says immediately.

“Sure,” Sophie responds, too quickly.

“I mean it," Bella insists.

“I heard you,” Sophie says, pulling a stool beside her. “Now, sit. Name, age, hobbies...”

“Sophie!” Bella points a soapy finger at her. “You’re out of your mind.”

Sophie smirks. “Runs in the family.”

With a groan, Bella sits, folding her arms. “Fine. But I’m not responsible for whatever weirdos you find.”

“Noted,” Sophie says cheerfully, typing away. “Okay, let’s see… Name: Bella. Age: forty-two. Occupation?”

“Online Tutor,” Bella replies.

Sophie nods. “Classic. Nurturing. Slightly terrifying.”

Bella narrows her eyes. “Excuse me?”

“Relax, Mom. That’s attractive to some people.” She continues typing. “Hobbies?”

“Reading. Cooking. Grading papers.”

“Mom, no one wants to date a woman who ‘grades papers.’”

“It’s honest,” Bella says, laughing.

“It’s tragic,” Sophie says, deleting it. “Let’s make it sound romantic. How about... Enjoys quiet nights with good books, home-cooked meals, and deep conversation.”

“That’s not me,” Bella is amused.

“That’s the version of you I’m trying to bring back,” Sophie teases.

Bella laughs. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re adorable when you’re frustrated,” Sophie says, tapping the screen again. “Okay. Now username. Uhmmm...Something fun." Sophie looks thoughtfully at Bella. Then, with an exciting look in her eyes, she asks, "Mmmm... 'Mysterious Delight'?”

Bella gasps. “Absolutely not. That sounds like a brand of cheap perfume.”

Sophie grins. “Nah! ...It’s intriguing. Men love mystery.”

“Men love video games and pizza,” Bella says dismissively.

“Then, you’ll stand out.” Sophie types it in before Bella can protest. “Boom... Done!”

Bella rubs her temples. “This is ridiculous.”

“This is progress,” Sophie corrects, scrolling through the settings. “Now your bio. Just a few lines.”

Bella sighs. “Fine. 'Not sure what I’m looking for, but open to possibilities.’”

Sophie looks impressed. “Look at you. That’s hopeful.”

“Sounds absurd,” Bella replies.

“Sounds poetic,” Sophie says, giving Bella a 'thumbs-up'.

Bella gives her a long, weary look. “Remind me again why I let you move back home?”

“Because I’m charming,” Sophie replies, reaching over to hug her shoulders. “And because deep down, you know I’m right.”

Bella tries to frown but cannot quite manage it. “You’re a menace.”

Sophie giggles, clicking 'SAVE'. The laptop screen refreshes, showing the completed profile:

'MYSTERIOUS DELIGHT', 42, ONLINE TUTOR, LOVER OF BOOKS AND QUIET NIGHTS.'

Bella stares at it. The bold letters seem foreign, like they belong to someone braver. Someone unrecognizable.

“Well,” she murmurs, “I'm surely going to regret this.”

“Or you’re going to thank me,” Sophie says, snapping the laptop shut with a satisfied grin. “Trust me. The universe loves bold moves.”

Bella smirks. “You’ve hopped on too many self-help blogs.”

“Maybe,” Sophie admits. “But it beats washing dishes on a Friday night.”

Bella looks around the kitchen: the soft hum of the refrigerator, the slow tick of the clock, and the faint steam curling from the stew. It all feels suddenly small. Safe and predictable.

And maybe Sophie is right. Maybe she has been hiding behind the quiet. She thought to herself.

“Fine,” she finally says. “But I’m not checking it.”

Sophie shrugs, trying not to look smug. “That’s what you say now; let's wait and see.”

Bella flicks the towel at her. “Out... Go bother your friends.”

“Can’t, Mommy...” Sophie replies, backing toward the hallway. “I’m invested in your love life now. Night-night, 'Mysterious Delight'!”

“Sophie!”

But her daughter’s laughter trails up the stairs like a melody, leaving Bella alone in the golden hush of the kitchen.

She stares at the laptop a moment longer. The light from the screen paints her reflection: soft, older, curious.

She reaches out but refuses to open it. Not yet.

Bella switches off the light and leans against the counter, letting the darkness settle around her.

Outside, the neighborhood hums in its quiet rhythm: crickets, a car passing, and the rustle of leaves.

Bella feels strange at the thought of being seen again, being wanted, and risking that ache a second time.

She exhales, soft and steady. “You’re insane, Sophie,” she whispers into the stillness. But her lips curve, just slightly, like a smile she has forgotten how to wear.

"Maybe, just maybe, her daughter is right." Her smile curves some more as the thought lingers.

Then, with a faint flicker of anticipation she refuses to acknowledge, Bella closes the laptop lid and heads upstairs.

Behind her, the cooling kitchen smells faintly of lemon soap, a scent that lingers long after she has gone.