Chapter 5: Homework or Nothing

Back home, my parents sat on the couch watching the Christmas special, while I did English homework at the dining table.

The TV flickered with reruns of holiday classics—It’s a Wonderful Life and Home Alone—while the scent of peppermint cocoa drifted from the kitchen. My parents laughed at the TV, but I felt invisible, hunched over my spiral notebook, the glow of the lamp sharp against the paper.

It was supposed to be a joyful family moment, but the lively music and festive atmosphere had nothing to do with me. All I saw were endless rows of vocabulary words.

Every word blurred together, my mind so numb I could barely remember what they meant. The laughter from the couch felt like it was coming from another world—one I wasn’t invited to join.

I tried to memorize them, but couldn't focus at all. Tears dripped onto the page.

The ink smudged where my tears hit. I pressed my sleeve to my eyes, frustrated and exhausted. I just wanted a night off—a chance to belong, to breathe, to be seen for something other than my grades.

Dad noticed my shoulders shaking. "Natalie, why are you crying?"

His voice was softer than usual, a hint of worry breaking through his usual easygoing tone. For a second, I almost believed he could fix things.

If he hadn't asked, maybe I could have held it in. But once he did, I couldn't stop sobbing: "You promised to let me sleep at Auntie's. Why can't I go now?"

My voice cracked. I could barely get the words out, my breath hitching as the dam finally burst.

"You promised—why did you lie?"

The accusation hung in the air, sharper than any Christmas ornament. I wasn't sure if I was more upset at him, or at myself for believing things could be different.

Dad was at a loss, sneaking a look at Mom. In our family, Mom's word is law. I can't disobey her, and neither can he.

Dad fiddled with the TV remote, eyes glued to the screen, like if he stared hard enough, he could disappear.

Mom saw I was on the verge of breaking down, but still acted superior: "Natalie, you just want to go to Auntie's to play on your phone. Don't think I don't know. Crying is useless—you aren't going anywhere tonight."

Her voice was flat, almost bored, as if my tears were just another inconvenience. I felt small and powerless, my feelings dismissed like yesterday’s Christmas wrapping paper.

My heart throbbed with pain, and my tears fell even harder as I gripped my pen.

I dug my nails into my palm, using the sting to keep myself present. My world narrowed to the page in front of me and the ache in my chest.

I didn't dare let go, didn't dare rebel. If I did, she'd start yelling, tearing down what little dignity and confidence I had left.

I remembered last time, when I tried to argue. Her words still echoed in my head, loud enough to make me flinch. I didn't have the strength to fight tonight.

So I could only endure.

I pressed my lips together, silent, praying for the night to end. My only comfort was the thought of Auntie’s promise—maybe there was still hope.

Just then, the doorbell rang. Auntie stood calmly at the door.

I heard her voice in the foyer, cheerful and unbothered. Aunt Sarah always knew how to show up right when I needed her most.

"I'm here to wait for Natalie. When she finishes her homework, I'll take her to my house."

She said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world, her words direct and unwavering. The confidence in her voice made me sit up a little straighter.

Before Mom could refuse, Auntie walked straight into my room with her tote bag: "Natalie, I brought your new clothes and pajamas. Take your time—Auntie will wait right here."

Her tote was stuffed with my favorite snacks and a fuzzy pair of socks. She sat on my bed, scrolling her phone, refusing to budge. Mom stood in the doorway, arms crossed, but for once, she didn't argue.

Since Mom had broken her promise, she had no choice but to accept Auntie's proposal.

The power dynamic shifted, just a little. I could feel the tide turning in my favor, even if only for tonight.

Suddenly I came back to life, wiped away my tears, and wrote furiously as if I'd been injected with energy. Finally, at 11:20 p.m., I finished my English homework and became the only student in my class to submit the assignment.

My hand ached from writing, but adrenaline pushed me through. As soon as I hit the “submit” button, relief washed over me like a wave. Who’s even checking Google Classroom on Christmas Eve? Even teachers need a break. I was free, at least for tonight.

"Natalie, your English teacher will definitely think you're the best kid."

Mom was satisfied and let Auntie take me away.

For once, she didn't argue. She even handed me my coat, the closest thing to approval I’d gotten in weeks. It felt strange—like I'd earned my freedom, but only by jumping through impossible hoops.

I got into the elevator without looking back at Mom.

As the elevator doors slid shut, I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. For the first time all night, I felt weightless. Auntie squeezed my shoulder, and for the first time all day, I let myself hope things would get better.

She had no idea—I never wanted to be the best kid. I just wanted to be like everyone else, an ordinary child, a child who could happily celebrate Christmas Eve.

The truth pressed down on me: I would trade all the praise and expectations for one night of being seen—just for who I am, not what I achieve.