OMG OMG At Christmas dinner, my sister and I argued until my mom suddenly spat in my face and screamed, ""You are a leech. My money is not for you."" Then she pointed at my five-year-old daughter and called her a burden. My husband took my hand and said, ""Let's go."" The next morning, Dad called about the house. / Chapter 1 / 10

Chapter 1 - The Breaking PointChristmas dinner at my parents' home in suburban Ohio had barely reached dessert when my sister, Lauren, leaned across the table and said, "Must be nice to show up empty-handed and still expect Mom and Dad to rescue you."

I set down my fork.

"I didn't ask anyone to rescue me."

Lauren laughed.

My mother, Diane, did not.

For months, she had been telling relatives that my husband, Ethan, and I were "struggling." The truth was much less dramatic. Ethan had changed jobs after his company downsized, and we had spent the past year cutting expenses while I worked part-time from home and cared for our five-year-old daughter, Lily. We were not wealthy, but every bill was paid.

Lauren kept pushing.

"Then why did Dad give you money last spring?"

My father, Robert, lowered his eyes toward his plate.

"That was repayment," I said. "Dad borrowed money from me."

The entire room went quiet.

My mother's expression changed. She stood so quickly that her chair scraped against the floor.

"You liar."

"Mom, I have the bank records."

She crossed the space between us and spat directly in my face.

Nobody moved.

"You are a leech," she screamed. "My money is not for you."

Then she pointed toward Lily, who had started crying beside Ethan.

"Take that burden and get out."

Ethan stood before I could even respond. He took my hand.

"Let's go."

I wiped my face with a napkin, picked up Lily's coat, and walked out while Lauren watched me with a strange, satisfied expression. Dad followed us onto the porch but said only one thing.

"I'm sorry."

I did not answer.

We drove the forty minutes home in silence. Once Lily was asleep, Ethan locked the front door and asked, "Do you think your mom knows?"

"Knows what?"

He looked toward the hallway leading to the office, where a folder containing closing documents sat inside a locked drawer. Three weeks earlier, Ethan and I had quietly closed on a house. Not the townhouse where we were currently living. A second house. A renovated four-bedroom property outside Columbus that we had purchased partly with money from an investment account my grandmother had left directly to me years earlier.

We planned to move in after New Year's and rent out the townhouse. I had not told my mother because every financial detail in our family eventually became a competition.

The next morning, my phone rang at 7:12.

Dad.

I nearly ignored it. When I answered, he sounded out of breath.

"Emily," he said, "your mother just found out about the house."

My stomach tightened. "How?"

"Lauren saw the county property transfer online. She showed her."

I closed my eyes.