I nearly snapped over a missing charger and knew it wasn’t really about the charger

Dear Delyara, My daughter asked if I had seen her charger while I was draining the pasta, and something in me tightened immediately. I could hear the edge in my own voice before I answered. Not shouting, just that clipped, tired tone that says the system is overfull and one more small request has landed badly. We found the charger. It was in her school bag the whole time. What stayed with me was the speed of my reaction. I wasn’t angry about the charger. I was angry about being the default search engine for the whole house. The finder of things, the rememberer of dates, the calmer of moods, the holder of practical life. Some days I carry that role easily. Some days it feels like everyone else leaves their unfinishedness in my hands. After dinner I apologised for my tone. She shrugged because children move on quickly. I didn’t move on as quickly. I sat with the discomfort of recognising how little room I had left by the end of the day.