I sat in the parked car and didn’t get out

Dear Delyara, I got home from work, switched the engine off, and stayed there with my hands in my lap for maybe seven minutes. The house was right in front of me. I could see the curtain moving slightly upstairs. I knew what was waiting inside — questions, dinner, noise, one child too tired, one husband wanting to talk about something practical, and the general evening feeling of everyone arriving at me through the same few rooms. I didn’t stay because I hate home. I stayed because I needed a border. Sometimes I need a small stretch of time where nobody can reach me before I step into the next role. A piece of roadless quiet. A pause long enough for my work face to fall off before I put the family one on. That’s what the car was tonight. A hallway between versions of me.