At nine fifteen, the taxi arrived exactly when I had arranged it. I left for the yellow cottage near my sister, carrying only what mattered. Callum eventually found another place. Months later, he sent me a four-page letter. The first three pages were filled with excuses, but the fourth finally contained an apology without blaming anyone else. We eventually began meeting for coffee at the cottage several times a year. Brielle never contacted me again, while Silas eventually got the downstairs bedroom he had always wanted in another house and still visits me during the summers.

Now I spend afternoons in a chair beside the window, reading while sunlight fills the room. Sometimes I think about that tiny birthday gift and how little it cost. They believed a cheap ticket represented my worth, as though I could be moved whenever I stopped being useful. But I had spent five years carrying their household while they mistook my silence for weakness. That morning, I stopped disappearing for everyone else. For the first time, I understood that I was not a burden waiting to be reassigned. I was finally visible—to myself.