A week later, the final realization came during a family gathering.
My mom handed me a list of things to pack for a weekend trip.
Toiletries.
Snacks.
Sunscreen.
And, of course:
“Make sure Owen remembers his charger this time.”
The list was two pages long.
“This is for us,” she corrected when I looked at it.
“And what’s Owen doing?”
She shrugged.
“He’s finishing his gaming tournament.”
Of course.
That night, while everyone slept, I pulled out my own duffel bag.
I folded my clothes carefully.
Not like someone packing for a trip.
Like someone escaping.
I didn’t have a full plan.
I just knew I wasn’t going to that lake house as their unpaid assistant.
The next morning, I acted normal.