“You already apologized.”
“I know. But I don’t think I understood why it was so bad until this week.”
She glanced toward Josh, who was outside with the kids.
“I’ve been furious for months because I felt like everybody thought my time belonged to them. Then I turned around and did exactly that to you.”
That was the apology I needed.
Not because it was longer.
Because she understood.
I hugged her.
I still help sometimes.
Last month, Vanessa called and asked if I could wash a load of the kids’ clothes because her father had an appointment and she was stretched thin.
I said yes.
A week later, she asked if I could do another.
I said no.
And do you know what happened?
Nothing.
She said, “Okay.”
They handled it.
The world kept turning.
Those four baskets taught all of us something I wish we’d understood earlier.
Work becomes invisible when someone does it reliably enough.
Josh stopped seeing how much Vanessa carried because she kept carrying it.
Vanessa stopped seeing what she was asking of me because I kept doing it.
And I had been so focused on proving that Vanessa was taking advantage of me that I hadn’t realized she was struggling too.
