Not all at once.
But I began noticing the things I used to ignore.
Owen never had to wash his own plate after dinner.
But if I left mine in the sink, I heard about it before I made it upstairs.
He could leave dirty laundry on the floor and Mom would say, “Boys will be boys.”
But if I didn’t fold the towels, it was:
“Laya, you’re better than this.”
One morning, I woke up early as usual and found Owen’s school project on the dining table.
Unfinished.
I stared at it for a long time.
He had a presentation that day.
I knew he’d forgotten.
I also knew my mom would wake up, panic, and ask me to help him finish it.
It had happened before.
But this time, I didn’t touch it.
I made breakfast, packed his lunch, and sat across from him when he finally dragged himself downstairs ten minutes before we had to leave.
He stared at the project.
Then at me.
“Did you finish it?”
“No,” I said.