“You already have more than you deserve,” she said, loud enough for everyone to hear.

I watched my son Paul glance away. Not a word of defense, not even discomfort—just silence. And that silence hurt worse than anything.

I looked around their beautifully decorated living room. The fireplace crackled. Stockings hung with labels for everyone else, including their dog, Winston. But not me—the woman who gave up her husband’s business to bankroll the perfect life they live now. The woman who spent five Thanksgivings sleeping on their pullout couch so they could save on child care.

I swallowed hard, stood up slowly, and buttoned my coat with trembling fingers.

“I think I’ll head out,” I said softly.

No one moved. Lacy raised her glass like she was toasting my departure.

“Enjoy the drive. Hope the roads aren’t too icy.”