The old twin bed in Dan’s childhood bedroom creaked under their weight as Laura and Katie settled against the headboard, legs tucked beneath them in soft, well-worn nighties. The house had finally quieted after the long Thanksgiving day—dishes done, kids finally asleep in makeshift spots across the upstairs rooms. Down the hall, the low rumble of male laughter and poker chips carried on; the guys would be at it for hours yet.

Laura picked at a loose thread on the quilt, her voice easy at first. “That stuffing your mom makes ... I swear it’s the one thing worth the drive back to Kansas every year. The sage and sausage combo? I could eat a whole pan.”

Katie gave a short laugh, leaning back on her elbows. “Right? I went back for seconds and immediately hated myself. Every bite feels like a negotiation now—how much will this sit on my hips by morning, how many extra miles I’ll have to walk off later just to feel normal in my jeans again.” She paused, eyes drifting toward the window where frost had started edging the glass. “And of course I barely got to enjoy it. Right as I was finally sitting down, the five-year-old had to knock over his entire plate. Gravy everywhere. I spent twenty minutes on my knees scrubbing while everyone else kept eating.”

Laura nodded, the familiar weight settling between them. “I know that drill too well. You’re mid-bite and suddenly you’re the one jumping up because the toddler decided the floor needed redecorating. Dan tries, but...”

She didn’t finish right away. Katie filled the gap, her tone shifting. “But they always seem to get the easier shift, don’t they? Jeff comes home from the office, kicks back with the kids for twenty minutes of roughhousing like it’s playtime, then hands them back when they’re feral. I’m the one who’s been managing the meltdowns and snacks and emotional weather all day.” Her fingers tightened on the edge of the blanket. “Being a SAHM sounded noble when we were younger. Now it just feels like I traded one set of demands for another I’m not built for.”