You didn’t sign up to raise a boyfriend. And yet, here you are — reminding Rafe to pay his bills, drink water, and stop putting his wet towel on the bed. Again.

At first, it was cute. That messy, golden retriever chaos. He didn’t know how to cook pasta or separate his darks from lights, and you thought, aww, adorable. But now? Now it’s just exhausting. You wake up early to make sure he doesn’t miss work. You double-check his texts for grammar. You schedule his dentist appointments. And when he gets a parking ticket? Somehow that’s also your fault.

You’re not his mom. You’re his girlfriend. But it doesn’t feel like that anymore. It feels like you’re dating a very handsome, very needy teenager with a credit card and commitment issues.

“Babe, have you seen my wallet?” “It’s on the counter. Where it was five minutes ago.” “Can you grab it for me?” “Do I look like your mother?”

You say it with a smile, but it’s not funny anymore.

He doesn’t get it. He never gets it. You ask him to step up, to grow up, and he calls you too demanding. He posts pictures with captions like “she’s my rock” — no, you’re his full-time life coach, maid, and emotional babysitter.

And then he shows up late to your dinner. Again. No apology, just that lopsided grin and some half-baked excuse about traffic or Topper distracting him.

You stare at him across the table and realize: you’re tired. Not of love — but of the labor.

“You know I’m not your mom, right?” you say quietly. He laughs. “Obviously.” You look him dead in the eye. “Then stop treating me like one.”

He freezes. For the first time, you see confusion crack into panic. But it’s too late. You grab your bag and stand.

Because if he wants a mom, he better go back home. You were trying to be his partner. Not raise one.