I just… I can’t anymore. I literally cannot. Like, my kids just left for college, right? Two empty bedrooms. Two. And my husband? He’s like, a ghost. Sits on the couch, watches sports, barely grunts when I ask if he wants dinner. We eat in silence. Total fucking silence. After twenty-two years, it’s like living with a really polite stranger who sometimes leaves his socks on the floor. And I thought, okay, this is it. This is my time. My *fucking* time. I got this new job, corporate gig, big deal. Fancy office, actual business casual clothes that aren’t yoga pants. I was excited. Genuinely excited. But no. Of course not. Because my Aunt Carol. God bless her, but holy shit. It’s been three months. Three months since I started. And every single goddamn Friday, it’s the same text. “Can you take me to Dr. Miller’s? The new hip is acting up.” Or “My arthritis is really bad today, can you drive me to the grocery store? Need more Metamucil.” And I do it. Every time. I cancel dinner with new coworkers, I miss happy hour, I make excuses like “oh, family thing.” I’m the weird new hire who never socializes. And last night, they went bowling. Bowling! My team! And I got the text. “My eye appointment is at 4:30 on Friday. Can you?” Like it’s not even a question. Like I don’t have a choice. And I don’t. Because if I say no, who will? My brother lives in another state, ‘too busy with his own family.’ My sister? She thinks Aunt Carol is “dramatic.” And I’m the one. Always me. I just want to go bowling. One time. Just one time I want to drink a cheap beer and laugh at my terrible score with people who don’t ask me about my cholesterol. I just want… I don’t even know what I want. My house is empty, my life is empty, and I’m just a goddamn taxi service with a college degree and a corporate badge that’s probably already fading. It’s 2am and I can’t sleep. I just keep staring at that text about the eye appointment. What the hell am I doing with my life.