It’s late afternoon in the small, cluttered living room of my cramped apartment. The worn-out couch I’m sitting on sags slightly under my weight as I scroll through my phone, the screen’s light flickering in the dim room.
The call comes in, a brief buzz against my palm. It’s my sister.
“You should have got that gift.”
Her words are simple, yet they hang in the air, heavy with a casual disappointment that feels distant.
I sit there, letting the silence stretch after the call ends, the weight of her unsaid frustration settling over me.
The gift—it was a hint she dropped weeks ago, something small but meaningful. But the reminder feels less about the object and more about what it represents.
My life has become a series of compromises. Two jobs, one part-time at a grocery store, the other as a freelance graphic designer. Long hours, early shifts, stressful deadlines.
Then there’s Dad. He lives nearby, and caring for him fills the gaps left by work, leaving little room for myself.
Weekdays blur, weekends disappear in errands. Reconnecting with my sister seems like a distant hope I can never quite reach.
Her success at her new job, a marketing firm, casts a long shadow over our interactions. Her advice, often unasked for, feels dismissive.
“You’ll figure it out,” she says when I mention my struggles, her tone light, but the words sharp.
Her judgment is subtle, felt more in the silences between our calls than in her words.
The past month has been a quiet escalation. Missed calls, ignored texts. A canceled coffee meet-up.
Yesterday, I noticed photos from a family gathering I wasn’t invited to. A reminder of the gap growing between us.
Tomorrow, our brother is visiting from out of state. Everyone expects me to be there, to mend the gap.
I’m avoiding preparations, not ready for the conversations waiting for me.
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