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.

Dad continued, “I told him what happened. He didn’t hold back. He said we’ve been treating you terribly. Especially since Maisie was born.”

I went still.

Dad’s voice cracked slightly. “He’s right. We did tell you not to come to your mother’s birthday. We didn’t invite you to Thanksgiving. We haven’t been there for you the way we should have been.”

He paused. “And then when we saw you happy somewhere else, our first reaction was to be angry and ask for money.”

The honesty hit me like cold air.

“That’s not okay,” Dad said firmly. “That’s not how family should treat each other.”

My throat tightened. “No,” I whispered. “It isn’t.”

“I know you’ve given us thousands over the years,” Dad continued. “Kyle told me about the three grand. Brinn mentioned the wedding. I found the roof transfer.”