Tari woke up the next morning to the faint sounds of birds singing outside her window. The house was quieter than usual, and for a brief moment, she allowed herself to enjoy the stillness. It was a rare feeling these days—peace, without the constant pressure of needing to be everywhere at once. 

As she slowly sat up, her body protested. The ache in her joints was more persistent now, a reminder of how much she had ignored her own well-being in favour of everyone else. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, before making her way to the kitchen. 

Amara was already up, sitting at the table with a cup of tea, her gaze focused on her phone. She looked up when she saw her mother enter, and a soft smile crept onto her face.

"How are you feeling today, Mom?" Amara asked gently.

Tari paused, considering the question. For the first time in a long while, she didn’t immediately answer with a ‘fine.’ She felt the weight of her daughter’s words from yesterday echoing in her mind. Amara had been right. She had been ignoring her own needs for so long that she had forgotten what it felt like to just rest.

"I’m... tired, Amara," Tari admitted, her voice small. "But I’m trying. I think I need to start slowing down."

Amara’s eyes softened, and she reached across the table to hold her mother’s hand. "I’m glad you’re saying that. It’s the first step, Mom. You’ve always taught me to take care of others, but you’ve never shown me how to take care of yourself. I want you to be okay, too."

Tari felt a lump form in her throat. She had spent so many years putting everyone else’s needs ahead of her own, and now, even with her health deteriorating, she had struggled to admit that she couldn’t do it all anymore. But Amara’s words were a lifeline, a reminder that her family cared deeply for her, and they didn’t want her to burn out.

That afternoon, Tari decided to take a walk through the neighbourhood. It had been so long since she had done something for herself, something just for her own peace of mind. She walked slowly, letting the cool breeze wash over her, breathing in the fresh air that had become so unfamiliar to her.

As she walked, she thought about the advice her children had given her, about how she needed to stop giving so much of herself away. It wasn’t easy to accept, but for the first time in a long while, she allowed herself to consider that maybe there was truth in what they had said. Maybe she could still be generous—she just had to find a way to do it without losing herself in the process.

As she reached the local park, she found herself sitting on a bench near a small pond, watching the ducks swim peacefully. The serenity of the moment felt like a balm to her weary soul. For the first time in a long while, she didn’t feel the weight of the world on her shoulders. She felt lighter, even if just for a moment.

Later that evening, Uche came over with Chika and their daughter. Tari could see the concern still written on their faces, but today, there was something different in their expressions—a slight shift, as though they could sense that she was starting to make peace with her own limitations.

"You look better, Mom," Uche said, his tone full of cautious optimism. "How’s your day been?"

Tari smiled, a small, genuine smile that reached her eyes. "It’s been a good day, Uche. I took a walk, sat down for a while. I think I’m finally starting to listen to my body."

Chika gave a soft laugh. "It’s about time, Tari. We were starting to wonder when you would slow down."

Tari chuckled lightly, the sound foreign but pleasant. "I suppose I’ve been stubborn."

Uche sat down beside her, his eyes filled with understanding. "It’s hard to change, Mom. We all know that. But we’re here for you. We’ll help you through this."

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