I tried to stay useful—picked up the twins from daycare when they were sick, stayed overnight when they had deadlines—but slowly the invitations thinned. They forgot to loop me in on Clara’s birthday plans one year. Another time, they changed the location of a family picnic and told me afterward it had slipped their minds. At first I believed them. Families get busy, I told myself. But the trip to Torch Lake wasn’t a missed email. It was a choice.

Later, outside the post office, I ran into Mara. She wore a floppy straw hat and carried a bouquet of sunflowers, always looking like she’d stepped out of a gardening catalog. We exchanged pleasantries—weather, tomatoes, the construction on Oak Street. I kept my voice calm and careful. I didn’t want pity; I just needed stamps.

“Oh, by the way,” she said as I turned to go, “I saw Nolan and the kids posted pictures from Torch Lake. That place looks incredible.”

“Yes,” I said. “It’s beautiful.”

“Ivette told us it was just going to be them and the kids this year. Quiet bonding, no extended family. I get it. Honestly, these days, everyone needs space.”