The Rules We Keep by Alisa Yunes

Lena always kept a small notebook

in her coat pocket, filled with neat lists: groceries to buy, birthdays to remember, bills to pay. She liked order. She liked knowing what came next.

It was a rainy afternoon when she found herself waiting in a crowded doctor’s office, tapping her pen against the paper. Across the room, a little boy was throwing toys everywhere, laughing loudly. His mother smiled weakly, too tired to stop him. Lena's fingers tightened around her pen. She wanted to snap at him, tell him to behave.

Instead, she closed her eyes, and the memories came.

She was six years old again, sitting on the cold floor of her father’s living room. Her toys had to be lined up perfectly or he would shout. One time, a single doll out of place had earned her an hour standing in the corner, silent tears running down her face.

"Only fools live in chaos," he had said.

As she grew older, Lena learned to stay invisible—quiet, perfect, controlled. She kept her room spotless, her grades high. She never gave her father a reason to notice her. Even after she moved out, she lived by those silent rules. Everything had a place. Emotions were dangerous.

The boy’s loud laughter pulled her back to the present. She watched him a moment longer—the wild, fearless way he played, the way his mother simply let him be. A tiny ache stirred in Lena’s chest, sharp and strange. She realized she didn’t feel anger. She felt envy.

The boy would grow up remembering happiness. He would feel free. He would not jump at loud footsteps or feel scared when something was out of place.

Lena's pen loosened in her hand. She tore the half-finished list from her notebook and crumpled it. Maybe she didn’t have to live by old rules anymore. Maybe she could start small.

When the nurse called her name, Lena stood, slipping the empty notebook back into her coat pocket. She smiled, a little shaky but real, at the boy as she passed.

Maybe it was never too late to learn a different way to live.