I closed my eyes briefly. There it was—the old, familiar phrase. That’s different. The sentence that had excused everything for as long as I could remember. Olivia got more because her situation was different. Olivia got consideration because her family was bigger. Olivia got patience because her life was stressful. Olivia got praise because her choices made sense to my mother.
And me? I got told to understand.
The ocean wind lifted the hair at the back of my neck. My voice came out quieter than hers, but steadier.
“What exactly is different, Mom?”
She didn’t answer right away. In the silence, a gull swooped low over the beach. Somewhere below, someone called for extra towels. The world kept moving, practical and bright and indifferent to family politics.
