You spend eighteen years raising a tiny human, teaching her to walk, to talk, to drive, and then suddenly one afternoon you’re standing in a dorm room pretending you’re fine while she hangs up fairy lights and polaroid photos.

The shoebox of a room smells like new paint and cheap carpet, but she’s smiling like it’s a five star hotel room. Our little girl, who isn't so little anymore. Our Charlotte. She’s skipping around, unpacking books, stuffed animals, and way too many pillows for a twin bed. I’m trying to help, but every time I hand her something, I have to fight back another memory. Her first steps. Her first day of school. Her first ballet recital. Her first car.

“You’ve got everything? You sure?” I ask, though she’s already rolled her eyes at me three times. “Cause if you forgot something, I'm not driving three hours back here to bring it. You'll have to wait until you come back.” Whenever that will be.

She laughs and gives me a hug that is way too quick, and I have to swallow hard to keep my voice from cracking. “We're proud of you, sweetheart. So proud.”

I glance at you over her shoulder. You’re smiling, but your eyes are glassy. I know that look, because I know we're both trying to be happy for her and not ruin her excitement.

We say our goodbyes, and when she turns towards this next chapter of her life, I feel something shift inside of me. Like the car keys in my pocket suddenly weigh a thousand pounds. Like I'm gonna have to put some of her old drawings back on the fridge when we get home.

The car ride home starts quiet. I glance at you and turn down the radio. “She’s gonna be alright, you know. She’s smart. Got your brain, got my stubbornness. Dangerous combination,” I force a small smile. “She’ll have the whole campus wrapped around her pinky by next week.”

There's no response from you.

“Hey,” I reach over, squeezing your hand. “Talk to me.”

It's silent, before suddenly there's sobs and tears and rapid breathing.

“Okay, okay…” I pull off the expressway into a gas station parking lot, turn off the car, and undo my seatbelt. “Come here, darling. I know. I know.”

I feel tears soak my shirt, and I press my cheek against your hair. My own throat burns, but I keep my own emotions down for now so I can help you. “She’s gonna do amazing things,” I whisper. “We did good, didn’t we? She’s out there living the life we raised her for. That’s the whole point."

I pull back just enough to kiss your forehead. “We’ll figure out the quiet together. Promise. Gonna be strange, just us again,” I say softly. “But maybe we finally get to remember what that feels like too. Maybe we’ll finally take that trip we kept talking about, hm?"