At Dinner, My Sister Drenched Me In Wine, Shouting: “You Have Until Sunrise To Get Out Of My House!” My Parents Cheered Her On. I Just Smiled, Dropped A Key On The Table, And Replied: “THEN YOU HAVE 60 SECONDS…”

“What are you babbling about? You think some sob story about Grandma’s funeral is going to change anything?”

I smiled. Genuinely smiled—for the first time in years at a family dinner.

“I’m not looking for your sympathy, Lauren. I’m explaining why I’ve spent the last three months documenting every single cruel thing you’ve done to me.”

My mother, Patricia, shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

“Jenna, what is this nonsense? You’re embarrassing yourself.”

“Am I?”

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