“Angela,” I said quietly, “that’s enough.”
She shrugged. “You chose your life. You can’t expect Mom and Dad to treat your kid the same when you’ve distanced yourself from the family.”
Before I could respond, my mother crouched down and scooped up scraps of wrapping paper.
“Oh, you want a gift?” she said sweetly—too sweet. “Here, let’s make you one.”
She tossed shiny paper over Lily’s shoulders. The boys joined in, laughing, wrapping pieces around her arms and neck. A ribbon tightened too close to her throat.
“Stop,” Lily gasped. “It hurts!”
No one listened.
The laughter grew louder.
And something inside me went completely still.
Not explosive. Not chaotic.
Just… final.
I crossed the room in three steps.
“Enough.”
No one moved.
I said it again, louder this time, and pulled the paper away from Lily, freeing her neck. Her hands clung to my sleeve, trembling.
“Go get your jacket,” I whispered.
She looked at me, unsure.
“Now,” I said gently but firmly.
She nodded and ran down the hall.
I turned back to them.
They were still seated, still comfortable, still convinced this was normal.
“Don’t start,” my mother said. “You’ve always been dramatic.”
“You hit my child,” I replied.
“She needed discipline.”