The other day, my mum left home just like any other day. That morning, she’d messaged to ask if I’d had breakfast. I replied, “yes, we’ll talk later,” and got back to work. She wasn’t ill, wasn’t in hospital, there was no cause for concern, no goodbye. It was simply an ordinary day—one of those days you think won’t change a thing.

The other day, my mother left the house as she did every morning. She sent me a text asking if Id had breakfast. I replied, Yes, well talk later, and buried myself in work. She wasnt ill, wasnt in hospital, there was no worry, no goodbye. Just an ordinary day. One of those days you imagine will slip by, changing absolutely nothing at all.

At four oclock, my phone startled me with a call from a number I didnt recognise. A neighbour, voice slightly out of tune with reality, told me, Your mums had an accident. I asked where she was, and in that clouded voice, the neighbour mentioned a clinic. I went instantly. They told me shed fallen on the pavement, struck her head, and nothing could be done. No drama, no last words, everything slightly blurred.

There were no parting sentences. No hugs. No time for words. I watched a white wall pulse and drift as people explained papers, signatures, procedures to me. I phoned my brothers, my voice all tremor and mist, uttering the hardest sentence I’ve ever spoken: Mums passed away.

The real avalanche wasnt at the clinic. It came when I wandered alone into her home, collecting her things, each object strange and floating. Her cardigans hung in the wardrobe, abandoned for the laundry. Her sandals stood by the door, purse slung behind a chair, groceries only half packed away. Everything was suspended in the exact heartbeat when life became something else.

I grabbed one of her blouses for my bag, and the scent of her soap spilled into the air. I stood, trapped, blouse in hand, unable even to blink. I perched on her bed and gazed at the carpet for hours, feeling a thunder of anger.

Then the quiet bruises arrived: dialling her number by force of habit and realising shes erased, returning from work and no one asking if I made it back safely, passing her front doorstep and never entering again. No one prepares you for this hush.

Everyone says, It was her time, God knows what hes doing, Shes resting now. But I dont feel peace. I feel absence. I feel she left on a random day, without permission, without warning, without a breath to comfort my aching heart.

And that stings mostthe goodbye never happened. Only a sharp, dry cut, with everything echoing and strange, as if it were a dream twisting out of reach.