Chapter 1

I'd spent a lifetime eating fish heads. My son actually believed I loved the damn things — all bones, no meat.

Every time the family sat down to a nice dinner, they'd pick through the tender fish flesh together, then shove the bony scraps and the head across the table to me like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Mom, this is your favorite part. It's all yours."

Watching my husband and son wear those smug, unbothered expressions, I suddenly thought: I can't keep doing this to myself.

So this time, I tipped the fish head into the trash.

Right in front of them, I pulled out my phone and ordered sashimi delivery.

When it arrived, I looked at my two stunned men and smiled, dabbing my mouth with a napkin.

"That little blessing is all yours from now on, boys."

This family — whoever wants to wait on the others can knock themselves out. I'm done.

They both stared as I dumped the fish head in the trash.

My husband, Gary, frowned and froze with his fork halfway to his mouth.

"What the hell's gotten into you now?"

"That fish cost over thirty bucks. You're just throwing it away?"

My son, Marcus, rolled his eyes and flipped his phone face-down on the table.

"Mom, is it that time again? The mood swings?"

"If you want attention, at least come up with something new."

In the old days, I would have fished it out of the trash and rinsed it off. No matter how hurt I felt, I'd have laughed it off — "Oops, slipped right out of my hands" — then snuck into the kitchen to cry where no one could see.

But today, I just wiped my mouth and looked at my sashimi.

I'd bought it with my own money. Money I'd quietly set aside for myself.

For the first time, I hadn't saved a single bite for them.

"Buy your own fish heads from now on," I said.

"And if you want what's in that trash can, help yourself."

I didn't wait for a response. I walked to the bedroom and shut the door behind me.

Bang.

Through the door, I heard Gary's lowered voice.

"Ignore her. She's just bored."

"Give her a couple days with nobody fussing over her and she'll come crawling back."

"Seriously, Dad, don't baby her."

"I've got an interview tomorrow. I'm not dealing with her drama."

I stood with my back pressed against the door and slowly slid down until I was sitting on the floor.

A cramp twisted through my stomach.

With trembling hands, I reached into the back of the nightstand drawer and pulled out an unlabeled pill bottle.

I shook out two pills and swallowed them dry.

The bitterness spread down my throat.

That night, I didn't go out to make peace the way I always had before.

The next morning, I woke to the sound of Gary ransacking the apartment.

"Laura! Where's my blue dress shirt? Why didn't you iron it last night?"

"Mom! Where's my phone charger? Did you move it when you cleaned?"

I lay in bed and listened to every word. I didn't move. I didn't even open my eyes.

I used to have breakfast ready by now, shirt ironed and laid out flat. I would have even put the toothpaste on their toothbrushes.

But this morning, I just watched the light come through the window.

After a good while of banging around, the front door slammed. The two of them left cursing under their breath.

I got up and walked to the window. Down on the street, I watched them stop at the breakfast place on the corner and buy buns and juice.

That greasy little diner with its thick dough and stingy fillings — they used to love it.

I remembered the day I was diagnosed with stage four stomach cancer. I'd been watching them walk into that same diner.

I had just come from the hospital. I was clutching the papers, my mind completely blank.

I went home hoping for something — some comfort, some warmth. Instead I saw them through the window, laughing over breakfast.

Marcus had just landed a job at his dream company. Gary had gotten a promotion.

The two of them were celebrating.

Through the glass, I watched Gary pick the meat out of his bun and put it on Marcus's plate.

And I stood on the sidewalk, holding those papers in both hands, watching them.

My phone buzzed, pulling me back.

It was a notification. I opened it.

Marcus had posted on Instagram.

The photo was a stray cat on the side of the road.

"Living with a drama queen is exhausting."

"Woke up to attitude this morning for absolutely no reason."

Gary had liked it. A few relatives had commented.

"Women just can't be spoiled — give them an inch and they take a mile."

"Probably just hormones. Ride it out, she'll be fine."

I read every word and felt nothing. No anger. If anything, I almost laughed.

I liked the post from my secondary account, then saved a screenshot.

It would probably be the last time I checked in on them.