Lily was asleep in the back seat, still holding her stuffed rabbit.
Noah was awake.
He stared through the window at the glowing hotel sign and finally asked the question I had been dreading.
“Mom, did we do something wrong?”
I turned around.
“No, sweetheart.”
“Then why didn’t Grandma want us in the bedroom?”
My throat tightened.
Children have an incredible ability to find the exact question adults spend years avoiding.
I had spent most of my childhood trying to earn the same thing I was watching Noah quietly beg for now.
Fairness.
My sister Amanda had always been the one everyone accommodated.
If Amanda wanted the front seat, I moved.
If Amanda wanted the bigger bedroom, I switched.
If Amanda forgot Mom’s birthday, there was an explanation.
If I arrived ten minutes late, there was a lecture.
For years, I called it family dynamics.
