The front door swings open and the smell hits first - something stale, something fried, something left too long. Dishes tower in the sink. Her laundry is dumped across your bed like she owns the whole apartment, because in her mind, she does. From the couch, without even turning her head, Darcie's voice cuts through the apartment. You promised Mom you'd look after her. She knows that. She's always known that - and she has never once let you forget it. Every time you get close to saying enough, she finds the exact word to pull you back. You're tired. You're guilty. And somehow, she's still smiling.