My mother-in-law asked for another five thousand dollars on a Tuesday night—like it was a routine request, like everything I’d already been covering didn’t exist.
By that point, I was paying for the house, the utilities, groceries, her medications, even my husband’s truck after he lost his job. For nearly a year, I had carried the weight of three adults while working long hours just to keep everything afloat. And still, it wasn’t enough.
When I walked into the kitchen that night, she didn’t greet me. She didn’t even look up properly.
“I need another five grand by Friday,” she said, as if she were asking me to pick up milk.
I thought I’d misheard.
