As I tidied the entryway that afternoon, I caught Marcus and Sarah whispering in the study.
“I don’t know what we’d do if Mom actually took a vacation,” Sarah’s voice floated through the cracked door. “Everything would just… stop. We can’t afford for her to stop.”
“She won’t,” Marcus replied dismissively. “She loves being needed. It’s her whole identity.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. I wasn’t a beloved matriarch; I was a structural necessity they assumed had no feelings of its own. I was the crutch they leaned on while claiming they were walking solo.
