Chapter 8: Rebellion and a Movie

Maybe because I'd been suppressed for too long, on Christmas Eve, I watched anime until 4 a.m. before falling asleep.

I let myself binge episodes, laughing and crying at the ridiculous plots. It was the most rebellious thing I’d done in months—and for once, I didn’t feel guilty about it.

At 9 a.m., I felt someone open the door. Then I heard the voice that fills me with dread: "Natalie, time to get up for breakfast."

The door creaked open, letting in a shaft of pale winter light. Mom’s voice, sharp and insistent, pulled me from sleep. I burrowed deeper into the comforter, wishing I could disappear.

Mom had actually come to see me early in the morning, but I didn't want to face her, so I pretended to sleep.

I slowed my breathing, squeezing my eyes shut. My heart thumped in my chest, the old panic creeping in. I was still at Auntie's, but Mom’s presence made it feel like home again—in the worst way.

Auntie pulled Mom away: "It's Christmas morning. What's the rush? Let the kid sleep a bit longer."

Aunt Sarah’s voice was firm, almost protective. I heard the two of them murmur in the hallway, Auntie not backing down an inch.

Mom was embarrassed to make a scene at Auntie's house, so she quietly sat on a chair by the door, waiting for me.

The silence on the other side of the door felt heavy, but at least there was no yelling. Auntie’s boundary was clear—this was her house, her rules.

Auntie guessed I'd already been woken up, so she snapped a funny photo and sent it to me: [I really can't with your mom—she still thinks you're a baby.]

The photo made me smile—Auntie’s perfectly timed eye-roll, Mom’s impatient frown in the background. It was a snapshot of our family dynamic in a single frame.

[Auntie, can we still see the movie?]

I texted quickly, hoping for good news. My heart raced with anticipation and dread.

[Of course. Sleep a bit more. I'll find a way to get your mom to leave.]

Auntie’s response was instant and reassuring. She always kept her promises, no matter what.

Auntie kept her word. That afternoon, I finally got to see a movie I'd been longing to watch.

We snuck out after brunch, bundled in puffy jackets, hot chocolate in hand. The movie theater was warm and smelled like buttered popcorn. I let myself get lost in the story, forgetting everything else for a couple of hours.

Last year and the year before, Mom promised several times to take me to the movies, but always broke her promise, so I didn't dare hope for it anymore.

I’d stopped asking, stopped wishing. Each broken promise left a little crack in my hope, but Auntie’s actions patched it together, one movie ticket at a time.

Because of this, I cherished the opportunity, took a picture of the movie ticket, and posted it on my Instagram story to tell the world that I was celebrating the holiday too.

I slapped a snowflake filter on my Insta story—“Christmas movie night with Auntie and Jamie! 🎄✨” For once, I actually meant the hashtag.