Sometimes you just… you get this feeling that hits you in the gut, and you know it’s wrong, like objectively, ethically, just flat-out BAD. But it’s there. And it’s so… light. Relieving. My dad went into hospice last week. The dementia got so aggressive, the sundowning, the falls, the endless accusations about people stealing his imaginary money. We had home care for a while, a live-in, but even they couldn’t handle it anymore. My mother, bless her heart, she was crumbling. And who takes over? Guess who. The responsible one. The oldest daughter. Always. You know what it’s like. You’re trying to build your own life, right? Like, I just got this promotion, finally, after years of grinding, and everyone back home, my aunties, my mother’s sisters, they’re all like, “Oh, maybe now you can find a husband! Settle down! Start a family!” And I’m still trying to figure out how to keep my own plant alive, let alone another human. But every night, for MONTHS, it was calls. What did he say? Did he eat? Did he take his meds? He fell again. He tried to leave the house at 3 AM. And my brother? Oh, he’s in a completely different city, running his “start-up” that’s really just him playing video games and occasionally bothering our relatives for seed money. So it’s me. It’s always me. The one who has to make the tough calls, research the facilities, deal with the insurance, calm my mother down when she’s crying because her husband doesn’t even recognize her anymore. And now he’s in hospice. And it’s like a switch flipped. The calls stopped. The panic attacks stopped. I can actually sleep through the night without my phone buzzing with some new crisis. And the feeling? It’s not sadness, not really. It’s this… quietness. This space. I went to the grocery store yesterday, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I just… bought what I wanted. Not what my mom needed, not the bland stuff dad could still chew. Just… *my* stuff. And I felt this surge of… I don’t even know what to call it. Freedom? Like the air got thinner, easier to breathe. And that’s what’s messing with my head. Why do I feel this? Is this just… human? Or am I some kind of monster? Because a part of me, a deep, dark, shameful part of me, is so incredibly RELIEVED. And I don’t know what to do with that. I really don’t.