On thanksgiving, my uncle blocked the door and said, “you’re not family anymore — leave,” i saw my mom laughing behind him, handing my seat to my sister’s boyfriend; i just nodded, got back in my car… and sent the message i’d been saving for months; five minutes later, half the table stood up — and walked out.

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you caught in the middle,” I said quietly.

Maya scoffed. “I’m already in the middle. But I’m glad you did it.”

I exhaled, my grip on the steering wheel finally loosening.

“Are you okay?”

“I will be. I’m done with them.”

Click.

I sat there in the silence of my car, staring out the windshield, watching as more cars began pulling away from the house.

A few people stood on the porch, looking confused. My mom’s voice rose above them all. She was shouting something I couldn’t make out, but I didn’t need to hear the words. I’d heard versions of them my entire life.

The next call came from Aunt Laura.

“Oliver,” she said, breathless. “Where are you?”

I debated lying.

“Down the street.”

“Stay there. I’m coming.”

She hung up, and true to her word, five minutes later, she climbed into my passenger seat. Her eyes were wide, but not with anger. More like someone who had just stumbled into a crime scene she wasn’t expecting to find.