My mom sent a text saying, “Skip my birthday. We need a break from your kid.” I didn’t argue. I simply turned around and took my baby back home. Two weeks later, when they found out we spent Thanksgiving at a private lodge with friends who flew us out, my mom’s first message was, “Why didn’t you tell us you were going there?” I got angry and replied.

You didn’t invite us to Thanksgiving.

You didn’t ask about our plans.

You didn’t check if we were okay.

But the second you see one photo of me being treated well, you’re upset I didn’t tell you and you’re asking for money.

Let me be clear.

I’m done being your ATM.

I’m done trying to earn a place in this family.

Maisie and I deserve better than this.

I sent it to the family group chat.

All of them.

Then I muted the conversation and set my phone face down on the coffee table.

My hands were shaking, but my chest felt lighter. Scared, but lighter, like I’d been holding my breath for years and finally exhaled.

The notifications kept lighting up my screen. I didn’t look.

I spent the afternoon playing with Maisie, giving her a bath, singing the ridiculous songs she loved. For once, I wasn’t going to let their drama consume my day.

That evening, Vanessa called, laughing.

“So I heard you finally told your family off.”

“From who?” I asked.

“Lauren,” Vanessa said. “Brinn tried to slide into Lauren’s DMs to ask how much the trip cost and whether you’d ‘manipulated’ your way into it.”