Showed Up On Christmas, But My Son Said, “Sorry, I Think You’re At The Wrong House.” Stunned, I Left. Minutes Later, He Called: “Relax, Mom. We Just Want Some Peace.” I Said, “I Understand.” But He Forgot To Hang Up: “She Thinks That Help She Sends Every Month Means She Gets A Say.” I Paused The Monthly Help.

He looked so much like his father that my breath caught. “Mom,” he said, the word flat. “You’re early.”

I smiled, ignoring the lack of warmth in his greeting.

“The flight got in ahead of schedule. I couldn’t wait to see everyone.”

He didn’t move to let me in. Behind him, I could hear the sound of laughter and Christmas music.

“We weren’t expecting you until tomorrow,” he said, shifting his weight to block the doorway more effectively. I frowned, confusion settling over me like a cold mist. “Your text said dinner at 3.

Today is Christmas.”

“Christmas dinner is tomorrow,” he corrected, his voice taking on an edge of impatience. “Today is Christmas Eve.”

I pulled out my phone, hands trembling slightly as I navigated to his text. “See, right here.

Christmas is fine. Dinner at 3.”

He barely glanced at the screen. “That’s not what I meant.

“Look, Mom. Today is just family. “Elaine’s parents are here and we’re doing our own thing.

“Tomorrow is when we do the big dinner with extended family.”

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