Then I sat in that car watching their porch through the windshield and waited.
At first, nothing.
Then, maybe 20 minutes later, the front door swung open.
Melanie came out laughing, probably saying something snarky, phone in hand, until she saw my car still parked down the street.
Her smile faded.
I watched her squint toward me, confused. She whispered something to someone inside, then went back in.
I pulled away slowly, not in a rush.
I had nowhere to be.
By the time I reached my hotel, a cozy little place I’d booked as a backup just in case the family drama kicked off again, my phone had five missed calls.
Two from mom, one from dad, one from Melanie, one from a number I didn’t recognize, probably her boyfriend.
I didn’t answer any of them.
I poured myself some hotel brand tea, sat by the window, and put my phone on silent.
The messages started coming in like a waterfall after that.
“Why is the Wi-Fi down?”
“Did you cancel the power?”
“Call me now, Aaron.”
“This isn’t funny.”
“You better fix this or you’re going to regret it.”
Then came the one that actually made me laugh.
It was from Melanie.
“Seriously, grow up. You always have to make everything about you. This is why we didn’t want you here.”
I didn’t reply.
I didn’t need to.
My voicemail filled up within the hour.
The group chat, which I hadn’t posted in for weeks, was blowing up with passive aggressive comments that were clearly aimed at me without mentioning my name.
“Some people can’t handle being told the truth.”
“It’s sad when your own brother can’t support family traditions.”
“Imagine ruining Christmas over nothing.”
Nothing.
That word did it.
That word hit like a slap across the face.
Because for them it was nothing.
Everything I had done. Every bill I’d covered. Every call I’d taken late at night to talk mom out of one of her spirals. Every birthday party I helped organize. Every loan I never asked to be paid back.