I finally bought my dream house and invited my family to come see it. No one showed up. Later that night, my dad texted, “We need to talk about the house.” By then, something inside me had already shifted.

The high school graduation they arrived for just as I was removing my cap and gown. The college awards ceremony they missed for Kevin’s soccer game. The promotion announcement my father had received with, “That’s nice, Mads,” before turning back to the television. My mother waving me away when I tried to read her a story I had written at ten years old because her show was on. Kevin’s C on a math test somehow becoming proof of perseverance and drawing praise at dinner for a week. Kevin’s one local tennis trophy occupying the mantel for nearly a year. Kevin’s half-formed plans, Kevin’s temporary setbacks, Kevin’s emotional weather always treated as central, understandable, urgent. Mine, if noticed at all, were considered solvable with restraint.