On a typical Tuesday evening, I walked into my in-laws’ house to find my children with completely empty plates, while their nieces and nephews were eating their third helping of lasagna from a “real” dinner set. Eighteen minutes later, I quietly decided I’d had enough of being their personal ATM, and that something in this family was about to go wrong in a way no one expected.

“I’m not surprised,” she finally said, a hint of sadness in her voice. “Leah, I’ve been observing this pattern for years. I tried to gently change it, but you weren’t ready to hear it.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize. I understand why you didn’t see it. You so desperately wanted a family after losing your parents. Wyatt’s family seemed to give you everything you needed.” But they used that desire against you, used your generosity as a weapon.

“What should I do?” I asked, my voice breaking. “How do I fix this?”

“What do you want to do?” she asked.

I thought for a moment, wondering what effect I wanted to achieve. Did I want an apology? Did I want them to change? Did I want to somehow salvage the relationship?

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