22 August 2026

During a family dinner, my daughter quietly passed me a note: “Mom, immediately pretend that you are ill and leave here.” At first, I thought my daughter was joking, but a few minutes later something happened that horrified me.

On the surface.

The dining room glowed with soft yellow light. Music played quietly in the background—something cheerful, something easy. Plates passed from hand to hand. Someone laughed too loudly at a story that had already been told twice.

Everything felt… normal.

Almost perfectly normal.

I remember thinking how tired I was.

The kind of tired that settles deep into your bones. Work had been exhausting, and the pregnancy only made everything heavier—my body, my thoughts, even my patience.

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