I Sacrificed 25 Years for My Family and All I Got Was a Spatula

He was from the next village over. An honest man. We had a simple wedding.

After the marriage, I split my energy in half. One half went to my own little family. The other half still went to my mother's house.

I thought things would slowly get better.

But five years later, my mother was suddenly paralyzed. She needed someone for everything—eating, drinking, bathing, using the bathroom.

Sylvester said he was too busy with work. Pat had just gotten married. Val said he needed to focus on his studies.

Nobody was willing to step up.

So I picked up the burden again, spending every day revolving around my mother. Feeding her. Bathing her. Turning her over. Emptying bedpans.

Day after day, without a single break.

I kept it up for two years before my husband finally couldn't take it anymore.

I filed for divorce and let him keep our son.

The year we divorced, Val graduated from college. He couldn't find a job he liked, so he insisted on studying for the civil service exam. He studied for three years. I supported him unconditionally for all three.

I'd poured half a lifetime of youth and sweat into that family.

I thought that even if I couldn't claim credit, at least my suffering counted for something.

But my mother said I'd never contributed to the family.

Eight million dollars in demolition compensation, and I didn't see a cent.

A shrill ringtone cut through my thoughts.

It was my mother.

"Where are you?"

I looked up and around. "At the peach orchard."

Twenty-five years. Survival of the fittest. The trees had been replanted three times over. The current ones wouldn't bear fruit until next year.

My mother's voice was sharp with displeasure. "Why haven't you come home to cook?"

"Mom, there are some things I need to sort through."

"Everyone's still hungry. Whatever it is, it can wait until after dinner. Get home. Now."

Home? Which home?

The one that was about to be demolished?

I used to have a home. Because of them, I'd thrown it away with my own hands.

I didn't have a home anymore.

I hung up, but my feet kept moving.

In a daze, I walked to the next village and found myself standing in front of my ex-husband's house.

The door was shut.

Sebastian Perry worked in the city now. He'd taken our son there for elementary school.

The five years I'd lived here were the only happy years I could remember.

I stood there for a while, then turned to leave.

But where was I supposed to go?

The neighbor, Mrs. Chavez, came outside and spotted me. She smiled. "Priscilla! I heard your family's place got demolished and they got eight million. Lucky you!"

"You've worked yourself to the bone for them your whole life. Your mother's gotta give you the lion's share to make up for it."

I smiled but didn't say anything.

Mrs. Chavez came closer and took my hand, lowering her voice. "Sebastian never remarried, you know. Says he can't let you go."

"Once the money's divided up, hire a caretaker for your mom and get back together with him. That boy needs his mother."

"You've given them the best years of your life. It's time you started living for yourself."

My whole body went rigid.

My entire life, I'd been busy for them. Living for them. I couldn't remember a single day I'd taken for myself.

I thought about everything I'd given over the past twenty-five years. The future I'd abandoned. My son's gut-wrenching screams the day of the divorce. My mother's words: You've never contributed to this family.

The tears finally came.

"If I didn't get a single cent, would he still want to remarry me?"

Mrs. Chavez stared. "What did you just say?"

The phone rang again. It was Val.

"Sis, where are you? Why aren't you home yet?"

I told him I'd be back soon.

I wiped my tears and said goodbye to Mrs. Chavez.

Back at the house, I tied the apron on again and picked up the spatula. I walked into the kitchen without a word and started cooking.

My mother sat in the main room and nodded with satisfaction.

"See? I told you. Your big sister can handle anything. She's not the type to throw a fit over a little demolition money."