Months passed, and my life in Lisbon became something I genuinely enjoyed. I had a comfortable apartment, meaningful work, and time to focus on myself. Then Aunt Clara called with surprising news. Brent had finally found a job at a storage warehouse. For years, he’d claimed ordinary jobs were beneath him, but now he was working nights to cover his own expenses. I hoped he’d finally understand what responsibility meant. I didn’t celebrate his struggles, but I was relieved that someone else was no longer expected to carry him.

Almost a year after I’d left, an email from Mom appeared in my inbox. It contained no requests for money or complaints about bills. Instead, she wrote, “Naomi, I finally understand what you were doing for us. I should never have let Brent throw you out. I’m sorry.” I read the message several times. I’d waited so long for those words, yet they brought more sadness than happiness. I replied, “Thank you, Mom. I hope you’re taking care of yourself.” Her next message was simple: “I miss you, sweetheart.”