light, and a half-eaten dinner roll soaked beside a serving spoon.
Through the archway, David handed Brenda her chilled Pinot Grigio.
They laughed.
Rachel settled onto the sofa.
Nobody looked toward the kitchen.
That was the moment.
Nothing dramatic broke inside me.
No furious speech formed. I had no urge to throw a plate or list everything I’d done for them.
Instead, I understood with almost peaceful clarity.
I wasn’t being treated like David’s mother.
I wasn’t being treated like Rachel’s mother-in-law.
I was unpaid household staff who happened to
