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My Daughter Wrote: “Don’t You Dare Come To Us For Christmas! We Don’t Want To See You!’ My Son…

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Just us. You’re always so needy and demanding. We need space. Don’t call. Don’t text. just leave us alone for the holidays. I sat down heavily on my kitchen chair, the phone nearly slipping from my grip. Needy, demanding. I had asked to see my own family for Christmas. Was that demanding? I waited for Brian to call to check on me to at least acknowledge what his sister had said.

We had a family group chat. He had surely seen the message. Silence. Hours passed, then a full day. Brian said nothing. His silence felt like agreement, like betrayal, just as sharp as Jessica’s words. That night, I didn’t sleep. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, Tom’s side of the bed cold and empty as it had been for 7 years.

What had I done wrong? Had I been too available, too giving? Or had I simply been too blind to see what my children had become? The next morning, I sat at my kitchen table with my coffee and my laptop. I opened my bank account and looked at the automatic transfers I had set up years ago. 1,500 to Jessica, 1,000 to Brian, month after month, year after year, I thought about the text message, about Brian’s silence, about how neither of them had asked how I was doing in months.

And then with a clarity that surprised me, I knew exactly what I needed to do. I canled every automatic payment, all of them. Then I texted back, just one word, okay. After I pressed send on that single word, okay. I sat motionless for several minutes, my heart pounding. What had I just done? But as the initial shock faded, something else took its place. Not anger, not yet.

First came curiosity, a cold, analytical curiosity I hadn’t felt in years. I opened my banking app and began to scroll, not just through recent months, but years. I exported statements, created a spreadsheet, something Tom had taught melong ago when we used to manage our household budget together. The numbers that emerged made me feel physically ill.

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