Her own hero.

She quietly shuts the door to her room.

For a few moments she just stands there, her mind numb, blank, empty.

The work day is over, the home work is done, dinner has been made, her babies are fed and bathed. Games have been played, hugs have been given and received. A million little questions have been asked and answered. The clothes for tomorrow have all been laid out. Lunches lovingly made. Bedtime stories read, and read again. The dishes have been washed and dried and put away.

The laundry done and put away.

The bills have been gone over, and the most important ones paid, the rest will have to wait. The next days schedule has been looked at and planned out.

Now the quiet slinks in. There is nothing left to do, no one left to tend to. Nothing left to focus on. Now is the time she both longs for and hates.

Her eyes glance towards the clock on her bedside table, the red light is over bright in the dark room.

It reads 11:53 p.m.

She walks over and sits on the edge of her bed, her elbows resting on her knees.

Her shoulders start to shake as her breathing starts to spasm. Her hands ball into fists.

And she allows herself to break, as the first tear slowly makes it's way down her cheek, she can feel that mental barrier that she keeps firmly in place through her day, crumbling.

Oh, how it hurts! Not only the breaking, but her pride. Her pride hurts worst of all, that she needs to break each night. Didn't she tell herself she could do it all on her own? Hasn't she proven it? Day after day, month after month. Through all of the joys, and heartbreaks, and chaos that is the life of a single mother.

As the sobs begin to come ripping from her chest and throat, she grabs her pillow and covers her face with it.

And as she curls on her side on that lonely bed, she lets all the sadness, the fear, the anger, the helplessness, the loneliness, break free. She gives herself thirty precious minutes to wish for someone, anyone, to take over, to lean on, to rely on. Someone she can turn to when the world just seems to much to take on. Someone who will stand beside her, fight with her, love with her, laugh with her.

A hero.

But after that thirty minutes, she puts the pillow back in it's place, and she again tells herself, it's ok to be afraid, it's ok to not always have the answers. She reminds herself that she is doing the best she can.

She goes into the bathroom and washes her face and readies herself for bed. Shoring up that ocean of self doubt, and fear.

For tomorrow that mental wall must be rebuilt, she must again put on a brave face, and she must as always, become her own hero.