I loaded the car.
I smiled.
I played the role I’d played for years.
Until Sunday afternoon.
We were sitting outside at a long table eating grilled chicken and potato salad when the conversation turned to kids and responsibilities.
My mom smiled.
“Laya’s our little manager. Honestly, I don’t know how this family would function without her.”
Everyone nodded.
Then she looked at Owen.
“Owen’s our dreamer. He’s got such a creative mind. I just don’t want to crush that spirit.”
Everyone nodded again.
Then Owen said with a mouth full of chicken:
“Yeah, well, Laya kind of likes doing all that stuff anyway. Makes her feel important.”
Everyone laughed.
Even my mom.
I didn’t say anything.
I didn’t storm off.
That night, I walked down to the dock alone and sat with my feet in the water.
And I finally admitted the truth.
I had spent 17 years trying to earn a place in a family that only wanted a servant.