The living room was softly lit, the glow of the tree and candles casting a warm and inviting atmosphere.
It was Christmas Eve dinner, a time usually filled with laughter and the clinking of silverware against plates.
But tonight, there was a heaviness in the air, a weight that settled in my chest.
Mom was handing out presents from a large box she promised would be shared with all of us.
Everyone received something, their eyes lighting up with surprise and gratitude.
I sat there, expectant, waiting for my turn.
But when the box was empty and my hands were still bare, I tried to catch her eye, a silent question hanging between us.
She didn’t look my way.
Instead, she said, “Be grateful you can sit here.”
My uncle, seated closest to me, chuckled lightly, a sound only the adults caught.
