Rebecca coped with her depression by organizing her life so there’d be no time for it. She’d been doing that for years since the divorce. Until one persistent stranger decided to interfere with her strict, lonely routine. Little did Rebecca know, he’d become the one person she’d end up missing.
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In the dim light of her bedroom, Rebecca lay on her back, her gaze locked on the digital clock beside her bed.
The numbers read 6:29. She took a steady breath, waiting for the clock to change.
As soon as it clicked to 6:30, the alarm went off, but Rebecca was quick to silence it.
She sat up, threw the covers aside, and rose from the bed with practiced precision.
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First things first—Rebecca smoothed out her sheets, arranging every corner until the bed looked crisp and perfectly made.
She walked into the bathroom, where everything had its place.
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Her toothbrush rested neatly in a holder, the soap was placed just so in a dish, and a small mirror hung over the sink.
Rebecca took a moment to look at her own reflection, her expression calm but distant.
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She was forty-seven, with lines of experience and resilience etched onto her face.
Seven years had passed since her divorce, and though the pain had dulled, it had left behind a scar.
Her response to the heartache had been order, discipline, and strict routine. These things brought her a sense of control, something solid to hold onto when life felt chaotic.
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At exactly seven o’clock, Rebecca laced up her running shoes, plugged in her headphones, and stepped outside, ready for her morning jog.
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For years, these runs had been her escape, a time to strengthen her body while listening to audiobooks that exercised her mind.
It was her shield against sadness, each step a way to push forward.
But for the past month, something had started to disrupt her carefully designed routine—a neighbor named Charlie, who seemed determined to break through her guarded solitude, one cheerful “good morning” at a time.
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Charlie’s house was right across the street, and every morning, just as Rebecca fell into her steady pace, he would come bounding out, waving his arms like an enthusiastic kid, barely managing to keep his sneakers on.
This morning was no different. Rebecca spotted him out of the corner of her eye as he hopped down his steps, shoving his shoelaces into his sneakers in a hurry to catch up.
She sighed, rolling her eyes and speeding up, hoping he’d get the hint this time. But, as always, Charlie wouldn’t be discouraged so easily.
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“Rebecca! Wait, it’s me!” he called, his voice cheerful as he jogged over, waving with one hand and holding his side with the other.
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Rebecca pretended not to hear him and kept her eyes straight ahead, her footsteps rhythmic and focused.
But Charlie was determined, and soon he was jogging alongside her, albeit slightly out of breath.
“You’re fast… as always,” he managed between pants, giving her a crooked smile as he tried to match her pace.
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Rebecca pulled out one of her earbuds and glanced at him, feigning surprise. “Oh, hi, didn’t see you there,” she replied, with just a hint of annoyance.
She had her whole morning planned out, and chatting with her neighbor hadn’t been on the agenda.
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“No problem, totally my fault for being late,” Charlie said, his breath still coming in gasps.
Rebecca could see he was trying hard to keep up, yet he looked pleased just to be running alongside her.
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She gave a small, dismissive nod and was about to put her earbud back in when Charlie chimed in again.
“Hey, want to hear a joke?” he asked eagerly, his voice carrying that unbreakable enthusiasm she found both irritating and oddly endearing.
“You’d save more breath if you talked less while running…” she muttered, but he ignored her suggestion.
“Why did the scarecrow get a promotion?” he asked, grinning.
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Rebecca sighed. She knew better than to indulge him, but she couldn’t help herself.
“I don’t know. Why?”
“Because he was outstanding in his field!” Charlie delivered the punchline with a broad, triumphant grin, his eyes bright with expectation.
Rebecca paused, rolling the joke over in her mind, and against her better judgment, a chuckle escaped her lips.
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She quickly tried to stifle it, but it was too late. Charlie had seen her reaction, and his face lit up with delight.
“See? You smiled! I’m getting better at this,” he noted with satisfaction, practically glowing at his small victory.
Rebecca shook her head, but her smile lingered, however brief.
“I’ll give it to you, that one wasn’t… too bad,” she conceded, still pretending to be unimpressed.
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Charlie threw a fist in the air, grinning as if he’d won a prize.
“Finally! Progress!” he cheered, laughing.
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Rebecca picked up her pace again, leaving Charlie struggling to keep up.
Each morning, Rebecca found herself looking forward to the sight of Charlie bounding out of his house with his untied sneakers and his cheerful grin.
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His silly jokes that once made her roll her eyes had grown on her, and she found herself smiling more often, even laughing aloud, which was something she hadn’t done in a long time.
More surprising to her, she had started to slow her pace—just a bit—so they could talk longer.
Charlie’s enthusiasm and light-heartedness had a way of softening the strict walls Rebecca had built around herself.
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He had even managed to slip past her strict routine, something she thought no one could do.
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As she laced up her shoes and looked out the window, Rebecca found herself glancing at his house, as she had started doing most mornings. Today, though, something felt different.
The door to his house was shut tight, and there was no sign of him.
She checked her watch and waited, telling herself not to worry. But after a few more minutes passed, doubt crept in.
This wasn’t like Charlie—he was always so excited to join her.
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She hesitated, feeling a strange mix of concern and disappointment, but finally, she walked over to his house and knocked on the door.
She tapped her foot as she waited, glancing around and hoping he’d just forgotten to wake up. But there was no answer.
She rang the doorbell again, then leaned close to the window, peeking inside, but the rooms were still and quiet.
“Charlie! Are you there?” she called, trying to keep her voice steady. “Come on, you’re missing our jog!”
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She hoped he’d suddenly appear, laughing and apologizing for being late. But all she heard was silence.
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Just then, an elderly voice spoke from nearby.
“Who’s shouting out here?” Startled, Rebecca turned to see Mrs. Lewis, an elderly woman who lived next door to Charlie, watching her with curiosity.
“Oh, Mrs. Lewis,” Rebecca said, feeling embarrassed for the outburst.
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“I usually run with Charlie, but he didn’t show up today. Maybe he overslept,” she added, her voice quieter, almost as if she were speaking to herself.
She felt a pang of worry, wondering if maybe he simply didn’t want to run with her anymore.
Mrs. Lewis shook her head, looking concerned.
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“Overslept? Oh no, dear. He was taken to the hospital by ambulance last night.”
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Rebecca’s heart skipped a beat.
“The hospital? What happened to him?”
Mrs. Lewis sighed, clearly upset herself.
“I’m not sure. I only saw the ambulance pull up and take him away. It’s such a shame. Poor man lives alone with no one to watch over him.”
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Rebecca stood there, processing the news, a wave of guilt and worry washing over her.
She had only known Charlie for a short while, but in that time, he had somehow become a part of her life, someone she looked forward to seeing.
Without a second thought, Rebecca thanked Mrs. Lewis, turned around, and headed back home to grab her purse and keys. There was only one hospital nearby, and she needed to find him.
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Rebecca felt her heart racing as she walked through the bustling halls of the hospital, the antiseptic smell filling her nose and making her even more anxious. She took a steadying breath as she approached the reception desk, hoping to sound calm.
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“Good morning,” she said, her voice just a bit shaky. “I’m looking for a patient who was admitted last night. His name is Charlie.”
The receptionist raised an eyebrow, looking over her glasses. “Do you have a last name, ma’am?”
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Rebecca felt herself blush. “No, sorry… I only know him as Charlie. We just… met recently,” she admitted, realizing how strange it must sound.
The receptionist gave her a slightly skeptical look. “You do know that only family or close relatives are typically allowed to visit patients, right?”
“I… I’m his girlfriend,” she blurted, surprising even herself.
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The receptionist’s eyes softened as a small smile crept onto her face. “Girlfriend, huh?” She tapped a few keys on her computer, a slight twinkle in her eyes.
“You might as well learn his last name, then. You’ll need it if he’s going to be around,” she said with a wink.
“Charlie Sanders. Room 113. I’ll take you there.”
Rebecca felt her heart flip as she whispered a quick “thank you” and followed the receptionist down the hall.
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Before they even reached the room, she could hear Charlie’s familiar laughter, his voice carrying through the doorway as he shared a joke with someone in the room.
The receptionist rapped gently on the wall to announce Rebecca’s arrival.
“Charlie, there’s a lady here to see you… she says she’s your girlfriend,” she added, a hint of playfulness in her voice as she glanced at Rebecca.
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Charlie’s eyes lit up as soon as he saw her. “Yes, yes! Rebecca, come on in. Of course, she’s here for me,” he said with a grin, gesturing for her to come closer.
Rebecca felt a rush of relief as she walked over to sit beside him.
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Charlie looked tired but cheerful, as if the hospital gown and the IV were just minor inconveniences in his day.
She glanced at him, both relieved and exasperated. “Girlfriend, huh?” Charlie teased, raising his eyebrows playfully.
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Rebecca gave him a mock-scowl. “I had to say something to get in here, didn’t I? And you missed our jog this morning! What happened?” she asked, a touch of concern creeping into her voice.
Charlie sighed, shifting slightly in the bed.
“Well… it’s a bit embarrassing to admit, but those jogs? Not exactly great for my health.”
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Rebecca’s face fell. “What do you mean?”
He glanced down, looking a little sheepish.
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“I have a heart condition. Doctor’s orders are to avoid anything too intense… like trying to keep up with you,” he admitted with a wry smile.
Her heart sank, and she shook her head in disbelief.
“Charlie, why didn’t you tell me? You shouldn’t have been running at all!”
Charlie gave a small, lopsided smile.
“Well… if I didn’t, I wouldn’t have seen you. I wouldn’t have gotten to know you.”
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Rebecca felt her face soften, a mix of surprise and affection warming her heart.
“So you were willing to risk your health just to talk to me?” she asked quietly, looking him in the eye.
He nodded, his expression turning serious.
“Yes,” he said simply.
“I’ve watched you every morning, jogging at the same time, like clockwork. I’ve seen you give things to charity, help the neighbors. You’re… you’re someone special, Rebecca.”
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Rebecca felt a lump form in her throat, his words striking her in a way she hadn’t expected.
She reached over and took his hand, squeezing it gently.
“Charlie,” she said, her voice soft, “you don’t need to run to spend time with me. How about dinner at my place instead?”
Charlie’s face broke into a warm smile.
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“Now that sounds a lot safer for my heart,” he replied, his eyes shining. “I think the doctor would definitely approve.”
Rebecca chuckled, feeling the tension in her chest ease as they shared a smile.
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“I hope so,” she murmured, looking forward to an evening that didn’t involve heart-stopping runs but instead a quiet meal with someone who, in a short time, had become surprisingly important to her.
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I Spent Every Thanksgiving with My Husband’s Family, but the One Time We Went to Mine Turned into a Nightmare — Story of the Day
Every year, Sarah had to devise a new excuse to explain to her family why they wouldn’t be visiting. “I won’t miss a single-family holiday because of your parents!” her husband Peter always insisted. But this time, Sarah stood her ground and defended her family values.
The end of autumn and the beginning of winter had always been my favorite time of year.
Сrisp air carried the smell of woodsmoke, and the golden leaves gave way to the first frost.
It was the season when my family would gather, no matter what, to share holiday dinners and exchange thoughtful gifts.
Those gatherings were the heart of my childhood, moments of warmth and laughter that felt like nothing else in the world.
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But since marrying Peter, those moments had become memories. Each year, I found myself on the phone, explaining to my parents why I couldn’t make it.
Why, once again, I’d be spending the holidays with Peter’s family instead of my own.
My mom would try to sound understanding, but I knew it hurt her. It hurt me too.
This year, though, things were going to be different. For the first time, Peter had agreed to spend Thanksgiving with my parents.
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It had taken weeks of discussion—if you could call the arguments discussions—but he finally relented.
And now, here we were, strolling through the grocery store, picking out a bottle of wine for my mom, a new roasting pan for my dad, and the ingredients for the pumpkin pie I wanted to bake.
I clutched a small bundle of festive napkins with turkeys printed on them and held them up for Peter’s opinion.
He shrugged. His lack of enthusiasm was obvious, and it had been simmering all day.
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“Are you okay, love?” I asked, trying to keep my tone light.
“Yeah. Couldn’t be better,” he said, his words dripping with sarcasm.
I sighed.
“Are you still upset about going to my parents’ house?”
He stopped walking and turned to me, his face tight with frustration. “Of course, I’m upset! Why should I skip my family’s holiday for your whims?”
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“My whims?” I said, my voice rising despite myself. “I’ve done this for you every single year since we started dating, Peter. Every. Year.”
“Oh, here we go,” he said with a bitter laugh. “It’s always about you, isn’t it? You didn’t like this, you didn’t like that. What about me? Why don’t you care if I’m happy?”
“Peter,” I said slowly, keeping my voice as steady as possible, “we’ve already talked about this. I just want one season with my parents. If that’s too much for you, maybe we should celebrate separately.”
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His eyebrows shot up.
“Season? Are you saying you’re skipping Christmas with my family too?”
“Yes,” I replied firmly, though my stomach churned.
“This year, I’m spending the holidays with my parents.”
He laughed, a harsh, humorless sound.
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“Fine. Then you can explain that to my parents.”
“I will,” I said, keeping my tone quiet and even.
I felt wrung out, as if every ounce of energy had been drained by this conversation. I just wanted it to be over.
We stood in the aisle for a moment, the silence between us louder than the buzz of the fluorescent lights overhead.
He grabbed the cart handle and pushed it forward without another word.
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I followed, clutching the napkins to my chest, trying to hold on to the excitement that had felt so real just hours ago.
The tension hung heavy in the car as we neared my parents’ house.
Peter gripped the steering wheel tightly, his jaw set in a way that warned me not to push too hard. But I couldn’t let it go entirely.
“Peter,” I started softly, “please, just be kind to my parents. They’re excited to see us, and they’re nervous about making a good impression.”
He let out a sharp laugh.
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“Oh, great! Now you’re giving me instructions? Should I juggle for them too? Or maybe do a little dance?”
I took a deep breath, steadying myself. “I’m not asking for much. I just want this to go well.”
“Well,” he shot back, his voice rising slightly, “maybe you should’ve just invited them to join us at my family’s house. Wouldn’t that have been easier?”
I shook my head, exasperated. “Peter, they’re old. Traveling for the holidays isn’t easy for them.”
“Great. Just perfect!” he muttered, throwing one hand up dramatically before gripping the wheel again.
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The rest of the drive was silent except for the hum of the engine.
I focused on the frosty trees lining the road, trying to calm the knot in my stomach.
When we arrived, I forced a smile and rang the doorbell.
My mom, Charlotte, opened the door almost immediately, her face lighting up as she threw her arms around us.
“I’m so happy to see you! Finally, you’re here!” she exclaimed, her warmth like a balm to my nerves.
Behind her, my dad, Kevin, offered a small, reserved smile, his usual quiet presence grounding the moment.
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Peter muttered a half-hearted “hello” and walked inside without eye contact.
I gave my mom an apologetic look, silently willing her to understand. Then, with a deep breath, I followed him into the house.
Inside the warm glow of the house, my mom and I moved around the dining room, setting the table with care.
The soft clatter of plates and the occasional hum of her voice filled the space as we arranged the dishes.
In the living room, Peter sat stiffly on the couch, his arms crossed, while my dad quietly flipped through a magazine beside him.
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Mom glanced toward Peter, her movements slowing. “Is Peter okay?” she asked softly. “He seems… upset.”
I hesitated, trying to find the right words.
“He’s just… frustrated, I think,” I said finally, keeping my voice low. “He wishes we were spending the holiday with his family.”
Her hands paused mid-air, holding a serving spoon. “Oh,” she said, her tone tinged with confusion and sadness. “Did we do something wrong?”
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“No, Mom,” I said quickly. “It’s not you. It’s just—” I stopped, unsure how to explain the unspoken tension between Peter and me. “It’s complicated.”
She looked at me, her brows drawn together.
“We’re not family to him?” she asked quietly, almost to herself.
Her words hit me like a cold wind. I didn’t know how to respond.
Was that how Peter saw it? My family, my parents—were they nothing to him? The thought stung more than I wanted to admit.
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“I’m sorry,” I murmured, though I wasn’t sure what I was apologizing for. For Peter’s mood? For his indifference? For years I’d put my family on hold for his?
Mom placed a hand on my arm, her touch warm and steady.
“You don’t have to apologize, sweetheart,” she said gently.
But her eyes still held a shadow of hurt, and it lingered in the air as we finished setting the table in silence.
The table was set beautifully, with crisp white linens, shining silverware, and the aroma of roasted turkey filling the room.
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My mom, Charlotte, stood back to admire her work before clapping her hands.
“Everything’s ready! Come and eat!” she said with cheerful warmth, her voice echoing into the quiet living room.
We all gathered around the table. My dad, Kevin, pulled out my mom’s chair for her, and I couldn’t help but smile at his small gesture of old-fashioned chivalry.
Peter followed sluggishly, barely making an effort to engage, and slumped into his seat with a sigh.
The meal began, but the air was tense like a storm waiting to break. My mom tried valiantly to spark a conversation.
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“So, Peter,” she started brightly, “how’s work going? Busy this time of year?”
He gave a noncommittal grunt, stabbing a piece of turkey with his fork.
“Dad’s been working on the deck in the backyard,” I chimed in, trying to fill the silence. “It’s really coming together.”
My dad nodded. “It’s slow, but it keeps me busy. Maybe you could come by and give me some tips, Peter.”
Peter didn’t even look up. “Yeah, maybe,” he muttered, flicking a crumb off the table.
I felt my cheeks flush with embarrassment. “Peter,” I said softly, leaning toward him, “what’s wrong? Can I help?”
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He dropped his fork onto his plate with a clatter and leaned back in his chair. “Everything’s wrong!” he snapped, his voice loud enough to make my mom flinch.
“How is this even Thanksgiving without my mom’s chocolate pudding?”
“Pudding?” my mom echoed, her voice unsure, her hands trembling slightly as she reached for her glass of water.
“It’s fine,” I interjected quickly, trying to calm the situation. “His mom always makes it for him. It’s no big deal.”
Peter scoffed, his eyes blazing. “No big deal? Of course! Because nothing I want ever matters. It’s always about Sarah, isn’t it? What Sarah wants. What Sarah needs.”
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“Peter, please,” I begged, my voice cracking. “This is supposed to be a happy day.”
He pushed his chair back, the chair’s legs screeching against the floor. “Listen, I’m done! We’re leaving. Get your coat, Sarah!”
“NO, YOU LISTEN!” my dad shouted after Peter, jumping up from his chair. But Peter just ignored him and walked right past! I saw my dad clutch his chest.
The weight of the moment pressed on me as I stood slowly. My mom’s eyes brimmed with tears.
“I’m so sorry, honey,” she said, her voice trembling. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“No, Mom,” I said, my throat tightening. “I’m sorry. I’ll fix this.”
I walked to the doorway, where Peter stood waiting, arms crossed.
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“Put your coat on! We’re leaving!” he barked.
“No,” I said, surprising myself with the strength in my voice. “You’re leaving. I’m staying.”
“What? You’re my wife. You’re supposed to listen to me!”
I took a deep breath, meeting his glare.
“You don’t respect my parents, you don’t respect me, and behaving like this, you don’t even respect yourself. I’ve put up with your selfishness for years, hoping the loving man I married was still there. But now, I don’t believe he is.”
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“You want to talk about respect?” he sputtered, disbelief written all over his face.
“Yes,” I said, my voice steady. “Leave, Peter. It’s over.”
His mouth opened, but no words came. He stormed out, slamming the door behind him.
I returned to the dining room, my heart pounding, and found my parents sitting quietly, their faces a mixture of sadness and concern.
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“I’m sorry, Mom. Dad,” I said, my voice soft but resolute.
“I let this go on for too long. But not anymore.”
Charlotte stood and wrapped me in a warm hug. “You’re home now. That’s all that matters,” she whispered.
For the first time in years, I felt free. I had chosen the family that truly mattered and wouldn’t trade them for anything.
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