My dad asked if I was going through a phase.
And Owen had the nerve to mutter:
“So, you’re just lazy now?”
That one stayed with me.
Lazy?
I was up at 6 every morning cleaning their messes and handling responsibilities I never agreed to.
The first time I paused, I was lazy.
Still, I didn’t argue.
Not yet.
I just started saying less.
Doing less.
Observing more.
I wanted to see how quickly everything would fall apart if I stopped being the glue.
The answer was quick.
Dinners were late.
Lunches were forgotten.
Laundry piled up.
Owen lost a library book and blamed me.
My mom gave me a lecture about personal responsibility while Owen walked barefoot past the overflowing trash like it wasn’t there.
But the breaking point wasn’t the chores.