The smell of fresh paint, lemon wax, and dark wood permeated the expansive entrance hall. Leaning on my silver-headed cane, my hand resting on my heavy belly of nine months of pregnancy, I contemplated this place that I had created.
It wasn't just a house.
It was proof.
A desperate gesture of love intended for parents who had never been able to see me.
"I've provided grab bars in the master bathroom, Mom," I said, forcing a smile. "And a bathtub adapted for your arthritis. Everything is on one level. No more stairs. »
My mother ran a critical finger over the Italian marble.
My father, on the other hand, looked the other way.
"That's good, Sarah," he muttered. "But the annex is too small. When Kevin and Chloe come, they'll need space. »
I felt my breath freeze.
Kevin. My brother. Unemployed, but still full of expensive ideas. And now engaged to a woman obsessed with status.
"The annex is more than a hundred square meters, Dad... »
"He's the man of the family now," he cut in curtly. "You shouldn't be selfish."
Selfish.
I, who had financed this project alone.
I, who had risked everything.
Before I could answer, a violent pain went through me.
A crack.
A hot liquid.
My heart raced.
"Dad... My water bag broke. I need an ambulance. »
But he did not move.
He walked around the puddle.
And held out his hand.
"Give me the keys."
In pain, I threw them at him.
And, as I collapsed, an icy certainty imposed itself:
I wasn't his priority.
I had never been.
