Every Sunday used to feel exactly the same — long, tiring, and anything but restful. I’d wake before sunrise, make coffee strong enough to keep me standing, and begin the familiar marathon of cooking, cleaning, and setting the table.
By noon, my husband’s entire family — all eight of them — would arrive. I’d greet them with a polite smile while secretly counting the hours until evening. They’d laugh, eat, and compliment the food, and I’d sit there smiling, even as my back ached and exhaustion pulled at my eyes.
The Breaking Point
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