You know that feeling when you finally get what you thought you wanted, and it just… sits there? Like a lump. I graduated — finally — after what felt like a lifetime of stretching out a degree I didn’t even really *want* anymore. Just kept going because it was a thing to do, a way to justify being close enough to home to… well, to be *there*. For her. My sister. Always my sister. For years, my whole existence was built around her schedule, her needs, her appointments, her moods. You become so good at anticipating, at reacting, at *being* a particular kind of person for someone else, that when that person doesn’t need you in the exact same way anymore… you just drift. And now I'm here. In this town. The same small town where everyone knows my parents, knows *her*, knows our whole story, probably knew it before I was even old enough to understand it myself. It feels like I traded one kind of confinement for another. I finally have a job, an actual professional job, something I worked damn hard for, but it’s still *here*. And every conversation, every well-meaning glance, every question from Mrs. Henderson at the post office about how my sister is doing… it all just reminds you of what you were. Of who you *were*. And sometimes you just want to scream, “WHAT ABOUT ME?!” but that feels so incredibly selfish, doesn't it? After everything. I look at other people my age, moving to cities, figuring things out, messing up, falling in love, doing… *life*. And I’m still just… here. Stuck. Like a fly in amber. I’m 28. Twenty-eight. And I feel like I just got out of high school, except I’m so much more tired. And angry. So angry. At what? At myself, mostly. For not knowing how to be anything else. For letting it all happen. For not having any idea who I even am without that particular role to play. Just a blank. A really, really pissed-off blank.