That Christmas, I Finally Saw the Truth About My Family

Taking Mia into my arms, I reached for our coats and grabbed them.

As my parents watched, they were irritated and couldn’t see the reason why I wasn’t participating in their perverted interpretation of the term “family tradition.”

It was my father who requested that Lauren take a seat. “You are causing a commotion now.”

I gazed at him in a straightforward manner. “You caused a commotion the moment you decided that my daughter was not deserving of even the most fundamental respect.”

He laughed it off. Simply put, it’s gifts. Your sensitivity is excessive.

They did not see what I observed, which was how Mia’s eyes became less bright, how she pressed herself down, and how she believed, even if only for a moment, that she deserved to be treated less favorably.

“Let’s go,” I hushed to her in a low voice.

We went without uttering a single word.

When I got home, I made some cocoa, wrapped Mia in the warm blanket that my late grandmother had sewn for me, and then I let her open the presents that I had purchased for her.

These presents were not designer or flashy, but they were brand new, warm, and chosen with love. And she flashed a grin. The genuine smile. Is the kind that causes your chest to melt.

Nevertheless, as she was playing, I made a choice that I had been resisting for a number of years.

Now, I was not going to allow them to continue to treat her or me in such a manner.

I went to the attorney that represents my grandmother the following day. A few moments before she passed away, she informed me that she had left something for me “in case the family turned cruel.”

Because I didn’t want to get into any trouble, I never opened it. Then again, after yesterday? It was necessary for me to know.

A letter was presented to me by the attorney. Within the package was a letter… as well as documents that caused my hands to shake.

Rather than leaving her whole inheritance, assets, and the family home to my parents, my grandmother, who was my father’s mother, had given all of these things to me.

She went into excruciating length to explain why she felt this way: she had witnessed my parents’ preference for Chloe throughout their entire lives.

She was well aware that they would behave in the same manner toward any grandchildren that might be born in the future. She expressed her confidence in me to interrupt the cycle in her letter.

After that, I came across the last page, which said that my parents had been residing in the property under a temporary occupancy agreement that had expired the moment I made the request to terminate their lease.

In a legal sense, I could force them to leave.

I did not wish for retribution. I had no desire for any kind of conflict.

However, I desired a change.

It was on December 27th that I went back to their residence. While my parents were seated in the living room, they were irritated but proud, and they were anticipating an apology.

In its place, I arranged the documents in a tabletop fashion.

Sneering, my mother said. What exactly is this?

My tone was calm as I stated, “Grandma has left everything to me.” It is the house. It is the land. It is the accounts.”

My father was a chuckler. “You’re joking around.”

I looked into his eyes. “You have thirty days to vacate the premises.”

There was a halt in the room.

Chloe’s mouth dropped open in shock. “You are not capable of doing that!”

I responded with a “yes.” “I am able to. As for me, I will. mostly due to the fact that I am sick of seeing you put down my child.

My mother finally rose up, trembling with anger. “How ungrateful to you—”

It was me that interrupted her. It is not acceptable for you to insult my daughter when you are living in a house that was constructed by a mother who loved her.

Their expressions changed, going from one of wrath to one of terror to another.

The realization of something.

Still, Christmas had not ended.

The last surprise was still on its way to being revealed.

It was a chaotic time for them during the next few weeks. Apparently, my mother was shouting about how I “stole her home,” conveniently forgetting that it had never been hers in the first place.

I heard this from friends and neighbors. Chloe was enraged and said that I had destroyed “family unity,” as if Mia had ever been allowed the opportunity to experience unity.

But I did not participate. I was concentrating on my daughter.

Mia became lighter with each passing night. More content. My parents’ harsh words and continuous comparisons prevented her from developing to her full potential. In addition to hanging paper snowflakes and assisting us in decorating our apartment with the Christmas lights that were left over, she inquired as to whether or not we might establish “our own Christmas traditions now.”

I responded with a “yes.” Beginning right now, everything that we do belongs to ourselves.

Finally, on January 25th, my parents relocated to a new location. They did not communicate with me. They didn’t gaze in my direction. Those irate and dramatic stomps that they made as they went would have caused me to crumble many years ago.

On the other hand, I was no longer the same woman.

I brought Mia to see the house that was now legally ours two weeks after we had formally purchased it. Despite the fact that the garden was overgrown, the paint was chipped, and the porch was creaking, I was able to see it the moment Mia rushed to the backyard and spun around under the large oak tree.

One’s future.

What lies ahead for her.

Without taking a breath, she questioned, “Is this really ours?”

“You are correct, sweetie. It belongs to us.”

We spent the day wandering around the dusty rooms, envisioning other hues, as well as dreams and drapes. My eyes began to well up with tears, not because I was sad but because I was relieved. as a result of recovering anything that had been stolen a significant amount of time until Christmas morning.

My parents were not invited to the move-in party that we finally pulled off. Because I didn’t require validation. I had no requirement for their presence.

However, I performed a significant action:

On the mantle, I hung a single photograph, which was a picture of my grandmother holding me when I was a young child with the two of us smiling.

Mia inquired, “Just who is that?”

I referred to her as “the woman who made sure that we would always be okay.”

While we were staying in the house for the first time, it was peaceful, cozy, and full of promise. There is no harshness. Make no parallels. There is no favoritism. On our own.

After a week had passed, an envelope was found standing in the mailbox. There is no reply address. Just a brief letter written by hand was found inside:

When we were hurting her, we were unaware of it.
What we want to do is put things in order.

After folding the note, I decided to put it away.

You never know, maybe I’ll give them a chance.

Perhaps.

Not yet, however.

Simply because the process of healing is not a show. The process of rebuilding is gradual and careful, which is something that they never cared to comprehend.

During this Christmas, we were not broken.

This set us free.

It is now Mia and I who are the owners of it.