He was from the next village over. An honest man. We had a simple wedding.

After the marriage, I split my energy in half. One half went to my own little family. The other half still went to my mother's house.

I thought things would slowly get better.

But five years later, my mother was suddenly paralyzed. She needed someone for everything—eating, drinking, bathing, using the bathroom.

Sylvester said he was too busy with work. Pat had just gotten married. Val said he needed to focus on his studies.

Nobody was willing to step up.

So I picked up the burden again, spending every day revolving around my mother. Feeding her. Bathing her. Turning her over. Emptying bedpans.

Day after day, without a single break.

I kept it up for two years before my husband finally couldn't take it anymore.

I filed for divorce and let him keep our son.

The year we divorced, Val graduated from college. He couldn't find a job he liked, so he insisted on studying for the civil service exam. He studied for three years. I supported him unconditionally for all three.

I'd poured half a lifetime of youth and sweat into that family.

I thought that even if I couldn't claim credit, at least my suffering counted for something.

But my mother said I'd never contributed to the family.

Eight million dollars in demolition compensation, and I didn't see a cent.

A shrill ringtone cut through my thoughts.

It was my mother.

"Where are you?"

I looked up and around. "At the peach orchard."

Twenty-five years. Survival of the fittest. The trees had been replanted three times over. The current ones wouldn't bear fruit until next year.

My mother's voice was sharp with displeasure. "Why haven't you come home to cook?"

"Mom, there are some things I need to sort through."

"Everyone's still hungry. Whatever it is, it can wait until after dinner. Get home. Now."

Home? Which home?

The one that was about to be demolished?

I used to have a home. Because of them, I'd thrown it away with my own hands.

I didn't have a home anymore.

I hung up, but my feet kept moving.

In a daze, I walked to the next village and found myself standing in front of my ex-husband's house.

The door was shut.

Sebastian Perry worked in the city now. He'd taken our son there for elementary school.

The five years I'd lived here were the only happy years I could remember.

I stood there for a while, then turned to leave.

But where was I supposed to go?

The neighbor, Mrs. Chavez, came outside and spotted me. She smiled. "Priscilla! I heard your family's place got demolished and they got eight million. Lucky you!"

"You've worked yourself to the bone for them your whole life. Your mother's gotta give you the lion's share to make up for it."

I smiled but didn't say anything.

Mrs. Chavez came closer and took my hand, lowering her voice. "Sebastian never remarried, you know. Says he can't let you go."

"Once the money's divided up, hire a caretaker for your mom and get back together with him. That boy needs his mother."

"You've given them the best years of your life. It's time you started living for yourself."

My whole body went rigid.

My entire life, I'd been busy for them. Living for them. I couldn't remember a single day I'd taken for myself.

I thought about everything I'd given over the past twenty-five years. The future I'd abandoned. My son's gut-wrenching screams the day of the divorce. My mother's words: You've never contributed to this family.

The tears finally came.

"If I didn't get a single cent, would he still want to remarry me?"

Mrs. Chavez stared. "What did you just say?"

The phone rang again. It was Val.

"Sis, where are you? Why aren't you home yet?"

I told him I'd be back soon.

I wiped my tears and said goodbye to Mrs. Chavez.

Back at the house, I tied the apron on again and picked up the spatula. I walked into the kitchen without a word and started cooking.

My mother sat in the main room and nodded with satisfaction.

"See? I told you. Your big sister can handle anything. She's not the type to throw a fit over a little demolition money."

My siblings stood off to the side, quietly breathing sighs of relief.

At dinner, Pat held a bowl and spooned food into Mom's mouth.

Mom watched her, her tone casual, as if she were asking about the weather.

"Pat, the demolition compensation came through. Take two hundred thousand and buy me a place in town."

"Somewhere close to the hospital, so your big sister can take care of me."

Pat froze. She glanced at me, then lowered her head. "Okay."

Mom swallowed a mouthful of rice and kept going.

"From now on, you'll give me ten thousand a month."

"The doctor said if I stick with physical therapy, I might be able to walk again."

Pat's brow furrowed. She looked up at Sylvester and Val across the table, both of them shoveling food into their mouths without a care in the world.

"How long would the therapy take?" she asked quietly.

"I've been paralyzed for six years. Could be six or seven more years at best. Maybe ten before there's any real improvement."

Pat set her bowl and chopsticks down hard.

"Mom, I don't want the demolition money. Keep it yourself."

Mom glared at her. "What's that supposed to mean? You think I'm too much trouble?"

Pat's face turned beet red, but she couldn't get a single word out.

I had no appetite. I set down my chopsticks, my voice steady.

"Mom, the compensation's been paid out. Have them hire a caretaker for you."

"I'm leaving. I can't take care of you anymore."

Mom went rigid.

"Leaving? Where?"

"The city. I'm going to find work."

"What the hell has gotten into you, Priscilla!"

Her voice shot up, shrill and panicked. "If you leave, what happens to me?"

Her eyes swept the room. "They got their share of the money. They won't just abandon you."

At that, Sylvester and Val finally lifted their heads, staring at me in stunned disbelief.

Mom's eyes reddened, her voice cracking. "Over a little bit of money, you're going to throw a tantrum and abandon your own mother?"

I looked at her.

"Mom, I've taken care of you for twenty-five years. I've taken care of this family for twenty-five years."

"I'm tired. I can't do it anymore."

Before she could respond, I stood and walked into the bedroom to pack.

When I came out with my suitcase, they were all standing by the door.

Every one of them staring at me like I was a criminal.

Sylvester rushed forward and grabbed the handle of my suitcase.

"You can't leave!"

I looked him dead in the eye. "Why not?"

His gaze darted sideways. "You have to take care of Mom. She—"

I cut him off.

"Is she only my mother?"

"I've taken care of her for twenty-five years. Isn't it your turn?"

His brow knotted. "I've got a wife and kids to support. How am I supposed to take care of Mom?"

"Then bring her to your place. Let your wife and kids help."

"Are you out of your mind? Mom can't even take care of herself. Bringing her over would turn my whole house upside down!"

I laughed.

"Mom's been paralyzed for six years. I've waited on her for six years. Since Dad died, I've looked after her for twenty-five years."

"I'm not her only child. She has four of us, doesn't she?"

"But you're the oldest! Taking care of Mom is your responsibility!"

"Besides, Mom's used to having you around—"

Something seized in my chest. My breath caught.

"Sylvester! I'm the oldest, but I'm only one year older than you!"

"There is nothing on this earth I'm obligated to do. I have given everything I have!"

"You're just mad Mom didn't give you any money, so you're picking a fight!"

"Mom's the one who split it up. You can't just drop everything and dump your anger on us because you didn't get a cut!"

I turned and glanced at Mom. Her face had gone white as ash.

"Sylvester, let me ask you something."

"What?"

"Mom's been paralyzed for seven years now. You were already married when it happened. In all that time, have you ever given her a single dollar? Have you taken care of her for even one day?"

He went quiet.

I said:

"No. You haven't given her a cent. And ever since she became paralyzed, your wife and kids haven't even visited once."

"In seven years, I can count on one hand the number of times you've come to see her. And every time, all you brought was a bunch of bananas."

"You just got four hundred thousand dollars. You can hire a proper caregiver for her instead of dumping her on me like it's my obligation."

Sylvester's lips moved, but nothing came out.

Mom pounded the armrest of the couch, her voice choked with tears.

"Let her go! Let her go!"

"Let's see if she's really heartless enough to let her own mother die alone in this house!"

I had two notebooks in my bag. I pulled one out and handed it to Sylvester.

"Everything you need to know about taking care of Mom is written in here."

Then I turned to look at her.

"Mom, it's not that I don't want to take care of you. I'm just tired. I need a break too."

I grabbed my suitcase and walked out.

I rented a tiny room in the city. Five hundred a month.

On the third day, Val called. His tone was sharp.

"Priscilla, Mom's in the ER because of you! They're trying to save her right now. Get your ass back here!"