A month after my div0rce, my ex-m0ther-in-law called at 5 a.m., demanding I cook for her husband’s 70th birthday. After years as a servant, I replied, “Who is this?” Hours later, they learned the truth.

Birthdays.

Baptisms.

Anniversaries.

Sunday dinners.

While everyone else dressed nicely and poured wine, I cooked.

If I sat down for five minutes because my feet hurt, Beatrice would appear.

“A good wife doesn’t rest while her family needs her.”

Brian never defended me.

Not once.

He usually stared at his phone.