I spent the entire day preparing Christmas dinner for the family. When I finally took a seat beside my husband, his daughter shoved me and snapped, “That seat belongs to my mother.” I swallowed the hurt and waited for my husband to stand up for me—but he only told me not to sit there again. Everyone else kept eating as if nothing had happened. I had given my youth, my effort, my entire life to this family. And in that moment, I understood something clearly: it was time they found out who I really was.
“Did you make the cranberry sauce from scratch this time?” Jessica asked as she dropped into her chair. “That canned stuff you bought last year was awful. It was gelatinous. Disgusting.”
Elena’s smile flickered, but she nodded. “Yes, Jessica. Fresh cranberries, orange zest, and a cinnamon stick. Just for you.”