My parents said, “We’re doing a small Christmas — just close family.” The next morning, I saw photos: 38 people. Even my ex was there.

Mason’s girlfriend of two months. Neighbors. Children. Ryan.

Everyone except me.

At ten o’clock, I drove to my parents’ house.

Not because I wanted to scream.

I had done enough screaming in my twenties to understand it never actually made people listen.

I went because I wanted them to look me in the eyes while I said no.

When I pulled into the driveway, continue reading …