She stared at the screen until the backlight dimmed and went black. For years, she had told herself it was just their way. They love me, they’re just difficult. They need me.
But looking at that black screen, seeing her own reflection, Sarah realized the truth. They didn’t need her. They needed her utility. To them, she wasn’t a person; she was an appliance. A toaster doesn’t get a seat at the table; it sits on the counter and makes the toast.
And when the toaster breaks, you throw it away.
Sarah set her phone down on the table. She didn’t cry. The time for tears had been ten years ago. Now, looking at the invitation list that had no space for her, she felt something new.
She felt a click. Like a lock turning.
She picked up her office phone—the landline. The one connected to her business accounts.
