“Why should I live like you—miserable and bitter? Why should I do chores, why can’t I fail my classes, why should I pay bills after graduation?”
“Responsibility, responsibility—blah blah blah. You’re so annoying! If you’re menopausal, go get treatment.”
Each word cut like a knife, slicing away my last fragile hope.
I was always wrong.
Sacrifice was expected; demands were natural.
My life—such a failure. A bitter, crushing failure.
Tears slipped down silently, tasting unbearably sour.
Perhaps dying like this… would be a relief.
At least I wouldn’t see my daughter’s cold eyes anymore.
At least I wouldn’t hear my husband’s constant blame.
At least I wouldn’t have to stretch every miserable dollar.
At least I wouldn’t have to endure my mother’s endless demands.
At least I wouldn’t have to imagine one day becoming a free nanny for my children’s kids, only to be despised again…
I was tired.
So very tired.
My final thread of will to live drowned under this boundless exhaustion and despair.
Slowly, I closed my eyes.
The sounds of the outside world faded away…
Bang!
David’s furious crash echoed outside—probably kicking over a trash can or chair.
