"It's just back pain from being tired. Lie down more and you'll be fine. Stop making a mountain out of a molehill."
In her eyes, my agony—pain so intense I felt like I was dying—wasn't worth a few hours of her time. Yet her mother-in-law mentioned a whim to travel, and Aria was ready to drop everything for days?
Watching her fawn over the woman on the phone, a cold realization settled in my chest. I turned and walked back to my room.
It wasn't that my daughter couldn't take leave.
She wouldn't take leave for me.
It wasn't that she didn't know how to be filial.
She just didn't think I was the mother who deserved it.
I shut the door, blocking out the sound of the family of three excitedly planning their tropical getaway.
I didn't sleep a wink that night.
At eight the next morning, they set off. They slipped out like thieves, moving quietly as if terrified I might wake up and beg to tag along.
Once the front door clicked shut, I walked out and surveyed the disaster zone they'd left behind. Dirty bowls and grease-stained plates piled high on the dining table. Toys and crinkled snack wrappers littered the floor.