She knew she shouldn’t, but she just couldn’t help herself. She reached for the last Double-Stuff Oreo in the package and gobbled it in one crumb-spraying bite.
Ever since her husband had left her—left her with the house, the whining kids, the bills—her existence, for it was too pitiful to qualify as a life anymore, seemed like one long and terrifying nightmare of mediocrity. Every day she came home from work and immediately the kids started demanding her attention. She switched to autopilot, eating her way through the evening without fully focusing in on the world.
She felt a small sigh of relief once the kids were in bed and house was quiet but only enjoyed the solitude for as long as it took to take another breath, and then the searing hunger of loneliness settled upon her once more. She got up, shuffled over to the pantry, grabbed the unopened package of Oreos, and wandered outside. She sank down onto the step with her cookies and tried to remember who she was.