I Was Jealous of a Woman Walking Alone

Dear Delyara, She was maybe fifty. Maybe older. Long coat, white sneakers, one canvas tote over her shoulder, walking down the sidewalk like the evening belonged to her. I was in my car at a stoplight with a trunk full of groceries and a text from the school nurse and a half-finished argument in my head from something my husband said at breakfast. And I looked at that woman and felt a little stab of envy so sharp it embarrassed me. Not because I want her life. Because for three seconds she looked like she was moving through the world answerable only to herself. The light turned green. I drove home. I chopped vegetables and found the missing water bottle and signed the permission slip. Still, I have not stopped thinking about her.