The Quiet Cup of Tea

There’s a peculiar silence that settles over the house once the last child leaves. It’s not sad, exactly. It’s a silence filled with echoes—of laughter down hallways, slammed doors, late-night fridge raids. And now, it’s just me and the sound of the kettle boiling.

This morning, I made myself a cup of tea and sat by the window, watching the light drape itself lazily over the garden. No interruptions. No frantic school runs. Just the whistle of the wind and the familiar scent of Earl Grey.

I used to dream of these slow moments when the house was full of noise and chaos. Now that they’re here, I’m learning how to savour them without the pang of missing what was. I’m not lost—I’m just beginning again.

To all the empty nesters out there: the nest may be quiet, but it’s far from empty. It’s brimming with memories, and more importantly, with possibility.