Chapter 6 - Black Friday Silence
The next morning, the world woke up to Black Friday sales, cheerful radio ads, and leftover pumpkin pie. In my mother’s guest room, the morning light filtered through the blinds, cold and gray.
Theo was still sleeping, bundled under three quilts, breathing softly. I slipped out of bed, pulled on a thick wool cardigan, and walked into the kitchen. My mother was already awake, sipping black coffee by the window.
"Did he call?" she asked gently.
"Three voicemails between midnight and two a.m.," I said, pouring myself a cup. "I haven't listened to them."
I unlocked my phone. Sure enough, the notifications were piled up like an avalanche. But it wasn't just Graham. Renee had taken the family drama to the public square.
A notification from Facebook showed a post by Renee Miller, shared thirty minutes ago:
*“Nothing reveals someone's true, selfish colors quite like the holidays. Some people would rather starve an entire family out of petty spite than show an ounce of gratitude. Class can’t be bought, sweetie. #UnhingedInLaw #HolidayDrama #FamilyFirst”*
My stomach churned, but the familiar spike of panic didn't come. Instead, a cold, sharp anger settled into my veins. For seven years, I had walked on eggshells to protect their reputation, while Renee felt completely comfortable slandering me to hundreds of mutual friends, colleagues, and extended family members.
Several of Brenda's friends had already commented:
*“Oh honey, I’m so sorry Brenda had to deal with that! She is such an angel!”*
*“Ungrateful people never change. Praying for your family!”*
I screenshot the post, saved it to my photos, and closed the app.
"Mom," I said, looking out at the frost on the lawn. "I need to go home. I need to get Theo’s clothes, my laptop, and check on the house."
"Do you want me to come with you?" she asked immediately.
"No," I said. "This is between Graham and me. If he’s there, we need to settle this without an audience."
When I pulled up to our two-story colonial at ten o'clock, Graham’s truck was parked in the driveway, crooked and parked too close to the garage door. The curtains in the living room were drawn tight. The house looked dark, dormant, and entirely unwelcoming.
May you like
I took the keys out of the ignition, took a deep breath, and walked up the front path. As soon as I unlocked the front door, the heavy, stale smell of bourbon and scorched coffee hit me.
Graham was sitting at the kitchen island, his elbows on the granite, his head buried in his hands.
