Chapter 7

By the second week at my new job, the first video I dropped on my account totally blew up.

It was a three-minute short about the tough realities middle-aged women face. The script was all mine.

Kept myself off camera, only narration and visuals.

It pulled in 470,000 views and brought in 23,000 new fans.

Leo dropped a [You crushed it.] in the group chat.

The girls on my team were freaking out. "Ms. Carter, you're a total legend."

I stared at the analytics, and for the first time in ages, I actually cracked a smile.

470,000 people watched something I created.

But in this house, nobody ever bothered with anything I wrote.

The anniversary card I wrote for David got tossed on the shoe rack, collecting dust. The birthday message I wrote for Margaret? She called me a "pretentious bookworm."

But now, 470,000 strangers watched, liked, and even left comments.

One comment said: [You put into words exactly what I've been feeling.]

Another wrote: [It's so hard for a woman in her thirties. You've got aging parents and young kids to take care of, and no one ever asks if you're tired.]

Someone else said: [Hang in there, girl. You're not alone.]

I took a screenshot and buried it deep in my phone's gallery.

I didn't show it to anyone.

When I got home, Margaret was feeding Linda, and porridge was splattered everywhere.

"Emma, get the mop," Margaret barked.

I changed my shoes, grabbed the mop, and mopped up the mess.

"From now on, get home earlier and help out. I can't do everything alone," Margaret snapped.

"Margaret, I started a new job..." I tried to explain.

"All you care about is your job. Look at David. He's so thoughtful, never uses work as an excuse."

David was sitting on the couch, scrolling through his phone. When he heard that, he looked up briefly, then buried himself back in his screen.

I rinsed the mop and leaned it back on the balcony.

I didn't say a word.

I didn't want to talk anymore.

It wouldn't make a difference anyway.