Chapter 2: Accountability Has a Long Memory
My mother approached me the following afternoon.
She stood in the doorway of my office, hesitant for perhaps the first time in my life.
"I've been thinking," she began.
I waited.
"When you were young, I carried everything myself."
"I suppose I expected Emily to do the same."
I nodded slowly.
"And how did that work out for you?"
She frowned.
"I don't understand."
"You were exhausted for years."
"You complained nobody appreciated your sacrifices."
"You said Dad never helped enough."
Her expression slowly changed.
Recognition.
Pain.
Regret.
"I became the thing I hated."
I didn't answer immediately.
Because she already knew.
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Sometimes the hardest lesson isn't hearing the truth.
It's recognizing your own reflection inside it.
