What do they
really think of me?

Dishes, plans, nothing stuff: the same fight every few weeks. Mona says it always starts Sunday night, when we're both dreading Monday. I shut down, she chases. I figured Mona would take my side. Nope, which is exactly why I listened.

Our chat was nothing but “grab milk” and “who's doing pickup.” Mona found that we stopped asking each other how our day went the year our oldest started school. I read it to my husband that night and we talked until 1 a.m.

Eight months of story replies and “u up?”, no label. Mona did the math for me: I started four out of every five conversations, and he only got sweet after I'd gone quiet for a few days. Not mean, but zero sugarcoating. I'm done waiting.

An 11-person family group. My uncle's good-morning flower stickers, my mom's “has everyone eaten?” Mona said what nobody ever had: my little sister is the one who settles every fight. Even my dad replied with something other than a sticker.

I wanted to hear it was his fault. It wasn't. From our second month on, I was the one who apologized first after every fight. Scary accurate, and fair to both of us.

A 60,000-message chat of pure nonsense, and she gave each of us a title and roasted us with our own words. Turns out I've never once answered a poll. I posted it in the group and nobody got any work done for an hour.