He spoke casually, almost lightly, explaining that he needed help for a while. Would I mind watching her? Just temporarily. As if the years of silence, abandonment, and rebuilding hadn’t existed.

I didn’t feel anger. I felt stunned.

I looked at the child—innocent, unaware of the history she was standing inside—and then back at him. I thought of the nights I had stayed awake worrying alone. The birthdays he missed. The strength I had built without him. And I realized something with surprising clarity: I didn’t owe him anything.

So I said no.

Not sharply. Not cruelly. Just honestly. I explained that I couldn’t take on that responsibility, that my life was full, that boundaries mattered.

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