My father called me a disgrace for driving trucks, and on christmas eve he made sure the whole family heard it. Then my grandfather—the only man I still trusted—looked me in the eyes and said we would have a vote.

My father, Richard, was the first to raise his hand. He looked directly at me, his expression hard, like he had already made peace with this decision long ago. Then my younger brother, Caleb, followed, a faint smirk on his lips like this moment had been waiting for him.

My uncles—Douglas and Henry—raised theirs next. Then their wives. Their children. Cousins. Faces I barely recognized. Some hesitated, but then my grandfather’s voice cut through the room.

“Well?” he said sharply. “Don’t make this take all night.”

That was enough.

The rest followed.

I counted without meaning to. Numbers felt safer than emotions.

Thirty hands.

Only two stayed down—Uncle Martin and Aunt Grace. They sat still, hands resting on their laps, their faces tense but unmoving. The only two people in the room who didn’t go along with it.

My chest felt empty.

A week ago, my grandfather had called me himself. His voice had sounded warm, almost hopeful. He said he missed Chloe. Said he wanted the whole family together for Christmas. For a moment, I believed him. I thought maybe… just maybe… things could be different.

Now I stood here, watching my family decide I didn’t belong.

I opened my mouth, but no words came out.