At 4:40 in the morning, my husband ripped the blanket away and told me, “Get up. Mom needs oatmeal before her pills.” That was the moment I realized my marriage had stopped being a partnership and had turned into an unpaid night shift.
I stared at Daniel through the dim blue light of our bedroom. Behind him stood his mother, Lorraine, wrapped in my robe as though she already owned the place. “She’ll be staying with us,” Daniel said. “Probably a few months.”
“You brought her here without asking me?”
Lorraine smiled. “Family shouldn’t need invitations.”
For six years, I had swallowed my words to keep the peace. I cooked, cleaned, paid the bills, kept track of Daniel’s meetings, and drove Lorraine to appointments whenever he was “too busy.” I had even delayed a promotion because Daniel said our home needed me more. Daniel called it being supportive. Lorraine called it my duty.
