She wasn’t chosen.
She simply stopped showing up.
No dramatic farewell.
No final act.
Just one day, she didn’t wake up.
She lived the kind of life that doesn’t leave a mark.
Always saying yes.
Always doing what was expected.
Waiting for joy, for purpose, for something to arrive.
It never did.
So one day, she sat down and stopped trying.
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Not out of anger.
Not from sorrow.
Just… nothing.
The world moved around her.
She stayed still.
Friends drifted.
Seasons changed.
She stayed still.
She forgot how to want things.
Forgot why people spoke so loudly, moved so fast, needed so much.
Everything was so heavy…
and she was so tired.
Then, one morning, the sky was gone.
Just white corridors.
Endless stillness.
And the faint scent of something clean.
She didn’t ask where she was.
Didn’t wonder if she’d died.
She just stood up
and started folding towels.
Now she moves like she’s always been here.
Not alive.
Not gone.
Just present.
If you speak to her, she’ll listen.
If you ask why she stays,
she’ll smile softly and say:
“I don’t think anyone noticed I left.”