Do Not Disturb

The honeymoon wasn’t supposed to start like this. A suitcase and a woman alone. He was gone before sunrise - his ring on the dresser, his suit in the wardrobe, and silence where promises used to be. The champagne had gone flat, the roses were starting to brown, and all that was left was the echo of what should’ve been.

At first, I just sat there, still in the lace set I’d bought for him, half buttoned beneath a silk robe. The room smelled like him, like us, like something that had already died. But as I stared at my reflection in the mirrored wardrobe, something hardened in me. I’d waited months for this trip, saved, planned, believed. And for what? My husband might have walked out on me, but I refused to leave myself behind, too.

I peeled the robe from my shoulders and let it fall to the floor. The air against my skin felt almost shocking. I sank onto the bed, the crisp white sheets cool against my thighs, and I exhaled for what felt like the first time in hours.

There was a toy in my suitcase - one I’d packed for ‘honeymoon fun’. It was sleek, rose-gold, tucked away at the bottom of my lingerie bag. I pulled it out and ran my fingers over it, smiling. Maybe the honeymoon wasn’t ruined after all.

The first touch was tentative. This wasn’t about lust but about remembering what it felt like to take up space in my own skin. I traced lazy lines over my stomach, my hips, the insides of my thighs, feeling the edges of myself come back into focus.

I’d spent so long trying to be what he wanted. A quieter, softer, smaller version of myself. I had shrunk myself for so long that I’d forgotten what my body sounded like when it sighed for me. The pulse of pleasure built slowly, like heat blooming under my skin. I moved how I wanted. No performance, nor waiting for approval. Just my breath, heartbeat, and old sensations that felt brand new. Every tremor was a reminder: I am mine. I always was.

When the pleasure and sweet release came, it wasn’t the kind that left me empty. It filled me. Warm. Defiant. Complete.

Afterwards, I lay in the stillness of my afterglow. Sheets tangled around my legs, my heartbeat steady again. The lights from the harbour glowed through the window, the skyline painted in gold and violet. I reached for the “Do Not Disturb” sign on the bedside table and smiled before hanging it back on the door handle. It wasn’t a warning to anyone, but a promise to me.

Do not disturb: I’m busy remembering who the hell I am.