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.

This is why I stopped paying for your lives.

Apparently, that stung more than the audio clips.

“They’re saying you’re punishing them,” my dad said.

“They punished themselves,” I replied. “I just stopped rewarding it.”

He didn’t argue.

After a while, he stood.

“I should go. I just wanted you to know you were right about all of it.”

He started toward the door, then paused.

“If there’s ever a way back for us, I mean… I hope you’ll let me take it.”

And then he left.

I didn’t cry. I didn’t rage.

I just stood there in the quiet, wondering how long it would take for the next wave to hit, because I knew the family wasn’t done yet.

My mom didn’t let go of power that easily. Ava never handled humiliation well, and Thanksgiving might have been the spark, but Christmas was around the corner.