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Max and Lily were starting to get cranky. My husband and I were barely talking. I felt like a guest on someone else’s vacation, quietly watching our own plans disappear in real time.
It was over dinner—an expensive seafood place my MIL had insisted on, where everything felt too loud, too bright, too performative. Max was poking his food. Lily was crying because the restaurant didn’t have chicken nuggets. My MIL was taking selfies like none of it was happening.
