And my parents were at the mall buying decorations. “Mom,” I said carefully, “I just had surgery.” “And Tessa only turns 26 once,” she snapped. “Don’t do that to you.” It was there.
The unspoken rule of my entire life.
Not when Tessa missed my graduation. Not when my parents used the money meant for me to fund her engagement party. Not when I went to the ER with an infection because my mom was helping her with her shopping.
Every family has role models.
Ours was deeply ingrained.
My dad picked up the phone. “Call a taxi, Maren. Don’t make a scene.”
A scene.
I hung up quietly. Not out of anger, but because I knew if I stayed on the line, I would cry.
I was discharged from St. Luke’s Regional at 2:40 on a Friday afternoon, with three stitches in my lower abdomen, a bag full of discharge papers, and strict instructions not to lift anything heavier than ten pounds for at least a week.
The nurse wheeled me to the entrance and gently asked, “Is someone coming to pick you up?”
I said yes.
Because at that moment, I still believed my parents would come.
I had texted them earlier that morning after the doctor cleared me. Nothing dramatic—just the facts: minor surgery, no complications, I was stable but sore, and I needed a ride because I wasn’t allowed to drive. My mother responded with a thumbs-up emoji. My father didn’t reply, which in my family usually meant he had already made a decision silently.
So I sat outside under the pale Kentucky sky, one hand resting over the bandage beneath my sweater, trying not to wince every time I shifted.
Ten minutes passed. Then twenty.
Then my phone rang.
It was my mother.
Relief came too quickly. “Hi… are you close?” I asked.
Her voice was bright, distracted. “Sweetheart, we’re at Brookside Mall.”
For a moment, I thought I had misheard. “What?”
“We’re picking up the cake and balloons for Tessa’s birthday. The bakery was delayed, and your father had to stop for candles she wanted.” Then, lowering her voice slightly, she added, “You’ll have to take a bus.”
I went silent.
“A bus?” I repeated.
