Lisa had a way of moving through rooms like a gust of wind—warm, quick, and never still. “You’re a lifesaver, Mom,” she’d say, pecking Helen’s cheek before work. The words were true, but lately they had felt… practiced.
Helen didn’t mind the helping. It gave her days shape: school runs, laundry, notes tucked into lunchboxes—You’re brave. You’re loved. Still, a subtle coolness had crept into Lisa’s voice, a thin film over everyday kindness.
Gratitude had started sounding like expectation. Helen noticed; she just didn’t know what to do with it.
