Sarah pulled up to the curb, her engine idling impatiently. “Thanks for keeping them busy, Martha,” she said as she stepped out. Her voice sounded sincere, and for a moment, a small spark of warmth flickered in my chest.
But as I watched them load the kids into the car, I felt the tectonic plates of our relationship shifting. I wasn’t being treated as a matriarch; I was being treated as a reliable utility—like electricity or running water. You only notice it when it’s turned off.
As their taillights vanished into the dusk, I realized that if I ever wanted to be seen again, I had to be the one to flip the switch.
