I can hear Chris's sigh from the other room, the one that says "why are you making me do this again?" and it's like a tiny needle under my skin. I know he's tired, too. But also, I'm not sure I can ask one more time. Dinner can be cereal. Maybe I'll just hide in the bathroom until bedtime. The weight of being the 'asker' always felt heavier than the task itself. It's like I was carrying not just my own needs, but the expectation that I'd be met with resistance, and that anticipation just drained me before I even opened my mouth.