You know when you’ve worked your whole life and your hands are just… built for it, you feel the calluses and the aches and you know what they stand for and it's not much but it's yours and you see people who just never got that, never had to put in that kind of grind and sometimes it makes you feel like you won and sometimes it makes you feel like you lost something important along the way. And you look across the table and there's your brother-in-law, maybe ten years younger and he’s got these soft hands, the kind that haven't really seen a day of honest work, and he's just smiling this empty smile and your wife is already looking at you, that look she gives, the one that says 'we gotta help him' even though he never helps himself. And you know what's coming even before he clears his throat and says "things are just really TIGHT right now" and you can almost hear the cash register ringing in your head. And you sit there with your plate of chicken and potatoes, food you paid for, food you worked for, and it feels like ashes in your mouth because you know what's next and you know you're gonna say yes. You just know it. Because she’ll lean over later, when he’s gone, and whisper about family and about how he just needs a little push and how we can afford it, even though you know damn well you can't really afford it, not without cutting something else, some little thing you were saving for, some little piece of comfort you earned. And you've done it before, so many times, that little voice in your head screams ‘NO’ but your mouth just can't form the word and it feels like your tongue is made of lead. And you just smile back, a forced kind of smile that doesn't reach your eyes and you ask if he wants another piece of chicken, knowing he'll take it. And it’s not just the money, though that’s a big part of it, especially now that you’re getting older and retirement feels like this distant shore you might never reach. It's the feeling of being taken for granted, the way he just assumes, and your wife just lets him assume, and you're the one who has to make up the difference. You see your own dad, his shoulders always slumped a little from the weight of providing, and you wonder if this is what he felt, this slow draining away of everything you worked for just to keep up appearances, just to keep the peace. And you think about all the times you wanted something small, something just for you, and it always got put off, always got pushed aside for something "more important" or "more urgent." And then he says it, that little request, always starts small like a mouse gnawing at the foundations and then it gets bigger and bigger until it's a hole you can't fill. And you just nod, you feel your head bobbing up and down, like a puppet, and your wife gives you this soft, grateful smile and you hate yourself a little in that moment, for being so weak, for not being able to say no, for always being the one to fix things, even when you know they can't be fixed. And you just keep eating, chewing slowly, trying to make the food last because you paid for it and it's the only thing you have left that feels truly yours right then. And you wonder if this is how it's gonna be until the end, just giving and giving until there's nothing left.