You know that feeling when you're just sitting there, completely calm on the outside, but inside there's this… SCENE happening? Like, a whole dramatic play unfolding in your head while everyone else is just… eating mashed potatoes. That was me last night. Dinner at my parents' place, same as every Sunday. My dad was going on about the tractor needing new tires, and my mom was fussing over whether I'd eaten enough, as usual. And I just... looked at them. Really looked at them. And then it hit me. Like a brick to the forehead, honestly. Sometimes you just… catch a glimpse of the future, I guess. Or maybe it’s not the future, but just the plain, undeniable truth of right now. They’re getting older, obviously. Not like they’re ancient, but you can see it. The lines around their eyes, the way Dad leans on the table a little more heavily when he stands up. And I’m sitting there, the only one, you know? Just me. And the thought just… festered. Because I’m the only one. The one who won’t carry it on. The name, I mean. The name that's been in this town, in this valley, for generations. Everyone knows it. Everyone knows *them*. And then there's me. And I know, I KNOW it's not a logical thing to be angry about. Not really. But it just felt so... infuriating. Like, why me? Why am I the one who just… doesn't have that desire? To settle down here, marry some local guy, pop out a few kids with the family name attached. Everyone just assumes, you know? "Oh, when *your* kids are old enough to help on the farm..." or "It'll be good to have another generation of [My Last Name]s here." And I just smile and nod and internally, I'm screaming. Because I'm not going to. I can't. And it feels like I'm letting them down, even though they’d never say it. They’d never even THINK it, probably. But *I* think it. It’s not like I don’t want a family, exactly. I just… I want something different. Something BIGGER than this valley. And every time I try to talk about it, about maybe leaving, even just for a bit, it’s always that same thing. “But what about the land?” Or, “Who’d ever want to leave a place like this?” They don’t mean it to be manipulative, I don’t think. But it feels like it. It feels like they’re just so content with things staying exactly the same, forever. And I’m just… not. And I’m mad about it. Mad at myself for feeling like this, mad at them for not understanding, mad at this whole damn situation for even existing. And now I can’t sleep because all I can see is them, aging, and the name just… ending. With me. And it feels like a betrayal. Even though it’s MY life. Right?