At the family gift exchange, my daughter opened a crushed box with a used crayon set inside.
My mom smirked.
“That’s what happens when your mom walks away from the family.”
My sister’s kids were opening iPhones.
I pulled out a stack of gifts from under the tree.
“These were for them,” I said. “They’re not anymore.”
And then I—
I knew something was off when I saw the gift under the tree. It was a tiny, dented box, the wrapping paper barely clinging to the corners like it had been reused.
My daughter, Ellie—eight years old and still the kind of kid who thinks Christmas magic is real—picked it up with both hands like it might fall apart if she wasn’t careful. She smiled up at me.
I didn’t smile back.
This was our first Christmas since I moved out of my parents’ house. After three years of living there with Ellie, I finally saved enough to get us a small home. Three bedrooms, a modest yard, but it was mine.
I paid for every brick with double shifts and skipped vacations.
When my sister asked if she and her three kids could move into the third bedroom, I told her no. Not because I didn’t care, but because I needed peace.
I wanted to give Ellie the quiet life I never had.
The room got quiet as Ellie unwrapped her gift. I swear I heard someone snort.
Inside was a half-empty box of crayons. The paper labels were peeled off, some broken in half. The box was greasy.
My mom was sitting on the couch sipping wine like it was just another Sunday. She smirked and said the thing that made my stomach drop.
“That’s what happens when your mom walks away from the family.”
I didn’t say anything.
My sister’s kids were tearing open brand-new iPhones, Bluetooth headphones, a damn Nintendo Switch.
I looked at Ellie. Her fingers clutched the crushed box like she was trying to convince herself it was still a gift.
That’s when I got up and walked to the tree.
There was a stack of gifts behind it, neatly wrapped, tags with names on them.
Michael.
Hannah.
Ryan.
My sister’s kids.
I had spent weeks buying them expensive, thoughtful gifts, each one handpicked.
I picked up the whole stack and dropped it right in the middle of the living room.
“These were for them,” I said. “They’re not anymore.”
My mom laughed like I was being dramatic.
My sister didn’t look up.
I walked to the door and called Ellie. She followed without a word.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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