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.

And sometimes silence is just a different kind of wound.

“I appreciate you saying that,” I said. “But I don’t know what you want from me.”

He exhaled.

“I don’t know either. I just… I guess I wanted to see how you’re doing.”

“I’m doing better,” I said truthfully. “Now that I’m out of it. Now that I’ve stopped pretending they’ll change.”

He nodded again.

“They’re planning damage control.”

“Of course they are.”

“They think if they just wait it out, people will move on.”

I raised an eyebrow. “And will they?”

He looked tired.

“Some already have. Some are scared to pick sides. But a few… they’re furious. Especially with what you said about the money.”

Oh, that part.

See, what I hadn’t mentioned to anyone outside that original message was the money trail.

I had been giving quiet financial support to several family members for years. Rent. Car repairs. Even a small loan to Ava once, when she said her boyfriend was abusive and she needed to leave.