My mom stumbled back a step, her hand reaching for the arm of a chair. I could see panic rising through her like ink spreading in water. My dad’s posture stiffened, his jaw locking as if bracing for impact. I stepped closer to Lily, but I didn’t touch her yet. I wanted to see what my mom would choose at this moment—truth, or the curated version of it she had spent years polishing.
She inhaled sharply.
“Lily,” she said, forcing a brittle smile, “you misunderstood. Grandma doesn’t hate you, sweetheart. Sometimes grown-ups say things that sound harsher than they really are.”
Lily blinked.
“But you called me an embarrassment last night. And Grandpa said only good kids get presents. And you didn’t give me one.”
A tremor went through the room. A few relatives exchanged glances. Someone coughed. My mom looked around desperately, searching for support, but even the most loyal aunts seemed uneasy.
My dad stepped forward, trying to regain control.
“That is enough,” he snapped. “Children mishear things. Lily is confused.”
James barked out a humorless laugh.
“Confused. Dad, are you sure you want to go with that?”
My dad turned on him.