Kendra learned the shape of approval early.
Perfect ponytail.
Perfect grades.
Perfect small smile whenever Mom cut me down.
I was the difficult daughter.
That meant I remembered things.
When my father died, I let my mother back in because grief made me stupid with hope.
She sent Charlotte birthday cards with stickers, baked cookies sometimes, and for a while I could squint and see the family I had wanted.
Then the bills began.
Kendra’s car payment was late.
Mom’s utility bill was too high.
Insurance premiums had gone up.
Nora needed shoes.
Mom was overwhelmed.
Kendra was struggling.
I had the steady remote job and the old training that made me flinch at the word selfish.
So I paid.
I paid because we were family.
I paid because saying no made me feel cruel.
I paid because every transfer bought a few weeks where no one called me dramatic.
