The candle itself was not what broke my heart.
The small cardboard tag was the real insult.
Gene had personally written the words herself.
It read: To Brandon’s Girl.
For several seconds, the joyful Christmas noise completely evaporated from the room.
A silver fork froze in midair beside my brother-in-law’s mouth.
One cousin stared intently down at the floorboards as if fascinated by the wood grain.
The family retriever backed away quietly from the table legs.
Beside me, Brandon squeezed his thick paper coffee cup until the cardboard collapsed and spilled liquid over his hand.
Gene kept her tight smile firmly pinned to her face.
That icy smile proved she knew precisely what she had done, because it was the exact expression she used whenever she expected everyone else to go along with her psychological games.
If we raised an objection, we would be labeled as dramatic holiday ruiners.
If we swallowed our pride and stayed silent, she won the game.
