I hide at work to avoid going home

I just finished reading Traces of Hands and my chest is tight. I am Mariam, a nurse, daughter, the one who brings tea in chipped mugs and counts blessings in small moments of care. Everyone tells me how dedicated I am, how lucky my parents are. The truth is uglier to say out loud: I stay late, I invent extra charts, I sit in the staff room until the last bus so I do not have to face the kitchen, the silences, the old arguments. I feel both proud and ashamed. Has anyone else used their job as a hiding place, and how do you live with that guilt while still caring for those you love?