Chapter 1: The Christmas Catastrophe

“You’ll never amount to anything,” Aunt Lisa snapped, flipping pancakes in our Ohio kitchen. The words hit harder than the spatula, syrup or not. She didn’t care if the neighbors heard—she wanted them to. I remember her waving that spatula in the air, her voice echoing off the faded wallpaper. The kitchen smelled like burnt batter and cheap maple, but nothing could cover up the sting of what she said.

Those words stuck to me like gum on a sneaker—sticky, impossible to scrape off. Even the maple syrup couldn’t sweeten her mood, not when she wanted to remind me and everyone else that I’d never be enough.

To prove her wrong, I tried to earn a scrap of respect at the family’s Christmas dinner. The house was packed—paper plates stacked with mashed potatoes, someone’s ugly sweater blinking in the corner, and the scent of pine-scented candles that never quite covered up the smell of burnt ham. I stood on a wooden crate, pretending to pick lilies as I danced, praying for approval.

All eyes were on me, the air thick with green bean casserole and Lysol. I counted my steps in my head, wishing this could be the moment they’d finally see me as more than a mistake.

Then the crate gave out from under me.

My knees slammed into the linoleum, the crate flying into Aunt Lisa’s pie—apples and crust everywhere. I lost my dignity in front of everyone, and my fiancé? He bolted, not even bothering to look back.

My face burned hotter than the oven behind me. I wanted to run after him, but my legs wouldn’t move. All I could do was stare at the swinging door, wishing I could disappear too.

After that, there was nothing left for me in that house. Not a decent engagement, not a shred of respect. So when my half-sister got married, I was bundled along—like some unwanted bonus. No one said it out loud, but I was there to fill a role, not because anyone wanted me.