No one teaches a woman how to end her day. She's taught to start it. The alarm, the routine, the list that begins before her feet hit the floor. She's taught how to be efficient with a morning, how to leave the house ready, how to arrive on time and prepared and already performing.
But the evening? That's unprotected territory. The day bleeds into it. The email, the task, the errand remembered too late. The overhead light still on because no one turned it off. The hours between dinner and sleep, shapeless and unclaimed, until suddenly it's late and the day simply ended without her choosing how.
I know this because I lived it for years. The evening happened to me. I didn't happen to it.
The candle changed that.