My sister spoke first. “Mia, she’s pregnant. She needs support right now.”
My brother nodded. “It was a mistake, but she’s still family.”
My father wouldn’t even look at me. “You’re young. You can find someone else.”
My aunt actually touched my shoulder and said, “Mia, please don’t make Christmas about drama.”
I watched, frozen and shaking, as my own siblings moved past me to hug my mom. Adam stood behind her, crying real tears, saying he had “confused feelings” and didn’t know how it happened. My mother sobbed into my sister’s shoulder while everyone comforted her like she was the victim.
I stood there in my ugly Christmas sweater with reindeer on it, broken and shaking, realizing that the people I loved were more concerned for the woman who destroyed my life than for the daughter who had just been stabbed in the heart.
Nobody asked if I was okay. Nobody told her that what she did was unforgivable. Nobody chose me.
That night, I left the house alone, walking through the falling snow to my car. My hands trembled so badly I could barely get the key in the ignition. But I wasn’t done with them. Not even close.
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