It Started With A Whisper

By: Stephanie Woodworth

I groaned as early morning light filtered through the curtains, the soft glow highlighting the disarray of my bedroom. My body felt heavy. A mix of exhaustion and the kind of regret I was getting too used to. I peeled myself out of bed, my bare feet hitting the cold floor.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him pulling on his jeans, his back turned to me.

Been here before. More times than I cared to admit. Another one-night stand. Another poor attempt at feeling wanted for five minutes.

I'm Daphne Collins. Fifty. Newly empty nester. Still single. Still making the same damn mistakes.

Katie had left for college, and the silence in the house hadn't stopped ringing since. I was proud of her. I was. But the truth was, I didn't know what to do with myself now. I had been her mom for so long, I forgot how to be anything else.

The guy-Joshua, or maybe Jacob-finished dressing and glanced back with a half-smile. "I'll text you."

I nodded. He wouldn't. I wouldn't answer even if he did. We both knew it.

The door clicked shut behind him, and the emptiness rushed back in like it had been waiting outside all night.

I grabbed my robe from the back of the door and slipped it on, then caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Size eight on a good week, ten on a real one. Still curvy in the right places, though gravity was getting bolder lately. I touched the ends of my dyed brown hair, then looked at the faint lines forming around my eyes. Nothing a good filter couldn't fix. In the right light, I could still pass for forty-two.

The soft fabric of the robe didn't feel warm anymore. I picked up my phone and swiped through the usual nothing.

One message stood out.

Camie:
Girl, coffee at 10? We need to talk.

I smiled a little and typed back:
I'll be there.

God, I needed to talk.

The coffee shop was quiet that morning, the sort of place where the clink of ceramic cups and the low hum of espresso machines gave just enough cover for confession. Camie was already seated, bright pink hair cut into her iconic pixie, looking like the cool aunt in a coming-of-age movie. She waved me over with a grin, two steaming mugs already waiting.

Courtney arrived a few minutes later, always pulled together in that accidentally perfect way. Glasses, soft cardigan, tote bag full of at least ten types of lip balm and emergency snacks. She gave us both hugs and slid into the booth like no time had passed since our last lunch.

Camie and Courtney had been my best friends forever. Camie had just married her high school sweetheart after five years divorced. They reconnected on Facebook, each bringing two kids into their beautifully blended chaos. She was spunky, with short hair that changed colors every time I saw her. At 52, she rode an Indian motorcycle and would always have my back.

Courtney had been married thirty years. Two kids, five grandkids, and somehow still managed to work full time and babysit most weekends. She was also two years older than me and still had the patience of a saint.

The three of us had a chaotic group chat, weekly FaceTimes, and a standing mimosa-and-gossip date every other Sunday.

Sometimes I wondered who I was now that the house was quiet and the title of "mom" didn't take up every minute of my day. I was fifty, never married, and had spent the last eighteen years pouring every ounce of myself into raising Katie. I worked as a realtor. Nothing glamorous, but it paid the bills. Without carpools or late-night study sessions, the stillness left space for questions I wasn't ready to answer. Who was I beyond motherhood? Beyond the casual flings and work emails? Some days, I wasn't sure.

"So," Camie said, her voice low but loaded with meaning. "Another one-night stand?"

I winced. "Yeah. But I think I'm done."

Courtney tilted her head. "Done-done? Or done-until-you-get-bored-again done?"

"Done done," I said. "Like... celibate. For real."

Camie blinked. "Wait, are you talking about Joshua?"

"Joshua, Jordan... maybe that's the problem," I said. "I need to stop with guys whose names start with J. It's a cursed letter."

Camie nearly spit her coffee. "You're not wrong. Jordan couldn't even introduce you to his mom. Joshua couldn't even remember your name."

Courtney snorted. "That's it. No more J names. You're going alphabetical from now on. Bring on the Adams and the Benjamins."

I laughed, but it faded too quickly. "Honestly... it's not just them. It's me too. I think I've been alone for so long that it's become normal. Comfortable, even."

Camie gave me a softer look. "And you're okay with that?"

I shrugged. "Most days. I mean, I miss things-companionship, connection-but it's safer this way. Less disappointing."

Courtney reached for my hand across the table. "It doesn't have to be forever. You're allowed to want more. You're allowed to wait for the right kind of more."

"I know," I said quietly. "I'm just not sure I believe in it anymore."

The next day at work, I found myself staring blankly at my computer screen. Real estate in February was about as exciting as a trip to the DMV, and I was already regretting the second cup of burnt office coffee. With nothing urgent on my desk and my brain refusing to focus, I did what any respectable adult woman avoiding her responsibilities would do-I opened my phone.

Somehow, I ended up on one of those anonymous Q&A apps. No names. No photos. Just a scrolling feed of strangers asking things they might never say out loud. I wasn't planning to post anything, but after ten minutes of reading wild confessions and late-night musings, my thumb hovered over the "post" button.

What the hell.

Ask me anything. F50. I'll answer honestly. No judgment.

I set the phone down and leaned back in my chair, fully expecting the usual nonsense. Ten seconds later, a DM popped up.

Eddie:
Okay, what's the deal with these younger guys? Why do women your age always seem to be into them? Genuinely curious.

I blinked. Bold opener. But the tone wasn't condescending. It was... inquisitive.

blueyedgrl:
It's not really about age. It's about attention. Being noticed. Desired.
Sometimes, we just want to feel seen again.

His reply came fast.

Eddie:
Fair. So... you're saying I should be flattered?

I smiled. Smartass.

blueyedgrl:
Only if you're younger and attractive. Which, thanks to the magic of anonymity, I get to imagine you are.

Eddie:
Naturally. Tall, dark, devastatingly charming. British.

I laughed. Actually laughed. The kind that made my coworkers glance up from their screens.

blueyedgrl:
Well, devastatingly charming British men are my weakness. So be careful.

There was a pause. Long enough to make me think he might be done for the day. Then:

Eddie:
What's your favorite song, and what do you feel when you hear it?

And there it was. The turn. From playful to personal.

I hesitated for a second, then typed:

blueyedgrl:
According to Apple Music, my most played song is You Could Start a Cult by Niall Horan.
Don't judge me. I like a reformed boybander with an emotional support guitar.

Eddie:
Niall, huh? So we're recruiting ex-One Direction members for cult leadership now?

blueyedgrl:
Only the sad ones with guitars. I have standards.

Eddie:
Let me guess-Harry's too famous, Louis too angry, Liam too confusing, and Zayn... well, Zayn would never show up to the meetings.

blueyedgrl:
Exactly. Niall brings snacks and listens to your feelings.

Eddie:
I stand corrected. Sign me up.

blueyedgrl:
But if you're asking my actual favorite song... it's Come Away With Me by Norah Jones.

Eddie:
You've got range.

blueyedgrl:
Oh, you have no idea. I can go from boyband to Beethoven to Bon Jovi before noon.
What about you? Favorite song?

Eddie:
Depends on the day. My taste is all over the place-jazz, soul, classic rock, indie.
Some days it's Bowie. Other days, Nina Simone.

blueyedgrl:
Mysterious and cultured.

Eddie:
I contain multitudes.

I smiled again, staring at the screen longer than I probably should have. There was something about him. About this. It didn't feel like small talk. I didn't know who he was, what he looked like, or where he lived.

And I didn't care.

Eddie:
Want to keep talking?

And without hesitation, I typed:

blueyedgrl:
Absolutely.