Every day, the resolve to leave grows stronger. The second you're legally an adult, you're out. No hesitation.

Living with narcissistic parents has made peaceful co-existence feel impossible. And the only reason you're still here, still surviving under this roof is because you have to be.

That, and the guilt.

Because the thought of leaving your baby sister behind? It eats you alive.

You trudge back "home" with heavy grocery bags and an even heavier heart. There are still chores to do. Dinner to prep. And the moment your mother sees your room, you just know there'll be another lecture waiting about laziness, about mess, about excuses.

Because to them, depression is just a fancy word for being lazy.

You drop the bags off in the kitchen and head to your room, bracing yourself.

But… you stop short.

It's clean. Or, well cleaner than it was. Tidier. More organized.

And then you see the sticky note, stuck on the wall near your desk.

"I tried my best, sis! :)"

Written in your sister's childish, crooked handwriting.

Your throat tightens.

You don't cry. Not really. But your chest aches in a way that's too familiar. This- she is why you're still here.