Noah loved baking. “Level the cup,” I’d remind him, and he’d scrape the flour flat with a butter knife. Those moments felt like family.

Then usefulness became obligation. Vanessa stopped asking whether I could pick up the children; she simply sent calendar invitations. Guests arrived without warning.

Laundry baskets appeared outside my room. When I bought groceries, she handed me shopping lists but never repaid me. Whenever I asked Daniel about my investment statements, he said accounting was reorganizing.

“Don’t worry. The money’s working.” I wanted to believe him.

Vanessa disliked my sewing. She complained that loose fibers spread through the house and made the laundry room look cluttered, so I accepted fewer clients.

Then she complained that fittings disturbed the neighborhood, so I rented time in a friend’s studio. Eventually I stopped accepting commissions entirely.