I bent down, kissed his forehead, and said softly,
“Let’s go.”
I didn’t argue.
I didn’t demand an apology.
I didn’t create a scene.
I didn’t give them the moment they could later use to call me dramatic.
I just took my children’s hands…
And walked out.
In the parking lot, I buckled them into the car and sat behind the wheel for a moment, staring ahead while the engine idled.
The urge to cry rose—then faded into something colder.
Exhaustion.
I was tired of always being the one expected to absorb everything.
Be patient.
Be understanding.
Be the bigger person.
Be useful.
That was the real word underneath it all.
