Chapter 2 - The Table Explodes
The dining room fell into an uncomfortable, icy silence. The scented cinnamon candles suddenly smelled suffocating.
My father, Robert, cleared his throat and adjusted his spectacles, refusing to meet my eyes. “Jackie, don’t make a scene over a holiday dinner. Your brother is asking for family support. That’s what families do.”
“Asking?” I let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Dad, he didn’t ask. He laid out a schedule and handed me an assignment. When was the last time anyone in this room asked me how my business was doing? When was the last time anyone asked if I was available before booking airline tickets?”
Derek’s face flushed a deep, mottled red. “Don’t play the victim, Jackie. We pay you back in family love! We include you in every holiday! And now, when we ask for one simple favor, you sit there and act like a martyr.”
“A favor is something requested and granted voluntarily,” I said, standing up from the chair. My hands were shaking, but I forced my voice to remain steady. “This is a demand. And my answer is no.”
Jennifer gasped, looking at my mother as if I had just uttered a string of profanities. “Martha, are you going to let her speak to us like this? We already paid the deposit on the cabin! If we have to hire a full-time nanny for a week, it’s going to cost thousands of dollars!”
“Then pay it,” I said smoothly. “Or stay home.”
“You self-centered little—” Derek started, rising from his chair, but I didn't wait for him to finish his sentence.
I grabbed my coat from the back of the dining chair, retrieved my handbag from the hallway bench, and walked toward the front door.
“Jackie! Get back here right now!” my father’s authoritative voice echoed down the hallway, the tone he used when we were children. But I was thirty-two years old, paying my own mortgage, building my own business, and surviving on my own merit.
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“Merry Christmas, everyone,” I called out calmly as I pulled open the heavy wooden door.
The cold winter air hit my face like a splash of cold water, shocking my lungs but clearing my mind. Behind me, I heard my mother crying out about ruined traditions and Derek slamming the front door frame, but I didn't look back. I got into my sedan, locked the doors, and sat in the quiet dark of the driveway for three long minutes.
