Chapter 1: The Slap That Broke Thanksgiving

When I went home for Thanksgiving, it felt like even the sky was different, you know? Everything just seemed off.

There was something heavy in the air—gray and pressing down on everything. The old neighborhood looked strange, almost unfamiliar. The maple trees in our yard had shed most of their leaves, and the bare branches scraped the window every time the wind picked up. Inside, the house still smelled like cinnamon and turkey, but even that couldn’t cut through the tension.

My mom kept herself busy cleaning and cooking, her face etched with disappointment and pain. Meanwhile, the housekeeper I’d hired for her—Debbie—was sprawled out on the couch, flipping through reality TV, her phone glowing in her hand.

Mom moved around the kitchen like she was half there, eyes glued to the countertop, barely even glancing at the TV blasting in the living room. Debbie had her feet up, cackling at some ridiculous fight on The Real Housewives. I caught the way Mom’s hands shook as she chopped carrots, and my stomach twisted up in anger. Wasn’t this supposed to be her holiday? Instead, it was just another day where she had to serve everyone else.

Before I knew it, my hand was already moving. I was so furious I smacked the housekeeper right then and there.

The sound of the slap echoed. Sharp. Sudden. Even the TV seemed to hush for a second. Debbie yelped, grabbing her cheek, her face twisted in shock and outrage. My mom gasped, dropping a spoon into the sink with a loud clatter. I couldn’t take it back. My hand stung, but my anger was way hotter.

I didn’t expect Debbie to double over, clutching her stomach, sobbing as she ran to my dad to complain. For a second, I just stared, not believing her performance.

She made a huge show of it, wailing like a toddler, staggering down the hallway toward my dad’s study. Her cries got louder with every step, like she wanted the neighbors to think I’d committed a felony. My dad burst out, startled, his face creased with concern, rushing to her side.

Oh great, here we go.

I crossed my arms and watched, my jaw clenched so tight I thought I might crack a tooth. Debbie’s sobs bounced off the walls, rising and falling in these over-the-top waves. It was like watching an episode of Maury, except this was my family, and there was no commercial break coming.

She just kept at it, crying and whimpering, her voice getting higher and more desperate. I took a breath, thinking, This can’t be real.

Even when my dad tried to quiet her down, she just buried her face in his shoulder, mumbling about how she couldn’t take it anymore. My mom lingered in the doorway, wringing her hands, her eyes begging me to just let it go. But I wasn’t backing down. Not this time.

I pulled my mom down onto the couch beside me. My hands were ice-cold, my face set as I watched my dad try to comfort Debbie, throwing out lines like, “She’s just a kid, please forgive her.”

I squeezed my mom’s hand, holding her there with me. My dad kept patting Debbie’s back, his voice all soft and fatherly. “Haley’s still young, Debbie. She doesn’t mean it. Let it go, okay?” He shot me a look, like I should be the one apologizing. I stared right back, not blinking.

A laugh slipped out of me.

It was sharp and bitter, and I didn’t even try to hide it. “A kid, huh?” I muttered, making sure everyone could hear. The absurdity of it all was almost enough to make me cry. I was so done pretending.

I’m twenty-two. Give me a break.

I leaned back into the couch, arms folded tight. Twenty-two, about to graduate college, and still getting called a child whenever it suited them. The hypocrisy was almost hilarious—if it didn’t hurt so much.

“You’ve got some nerve, laughing!”

My dad spun around, glaring at me. “No matter what, she’s still your Aunt Debbie. How could you hit her?!”

His voice cracked with anger—the same kind he usually reserved for some jerk who cut him off in traffic. His eyes were wild, like I’d just broken the unbreakable family rule. My mom shrank beside me, but I didn’t budge.

Seriously, the housekeeper I’d hired for my mom was actually her younger cousin. Technically, I was supposed to call her Aunt Debbie.

But honestly? Right now, all I wanted was to call her a shameless homewrecker and toss her out of my house. No more nice girl.

I should’ve known better than to let family ties mess with my head. I saw she was struggling, so I thought I’d help out and let her work here. I should’ve just minded my own business and kept my distance.

I chewed the inside of my cheek, replaying all the reasons I’d told myself it was a good idea—helping family, giving her a fresh start. I’d thought I was doing the right thing. Turns out, good intentions don’t always mean good decisions.

“What did I hire you for?”

I stared straight at Debbie Morgan. “And what did you say when you started?”

She just stammered, fidgeting, totally lost for words.

Her voice barely made it out, eyes darting between my dad and the floor. “I… I just wanted to help out, Haley. I didn’t mean any trouble.”

Even now, I couldn’t help but notice—she was still pretty, with that heart-shaped face, delicate brows, and the kind of fragile beauty that made people want to protect her. Even at forty, she still had that charm.

But there was something so practiced about her tears. The way she dabbed at her eyes, the tilt of her head—it was like she’d rehearsed this helpless act a hundred times. I couldn’t help but wonder, Has she pulled this on other families too?

Watching the tenderness in my dad’s eyes for her, I felt a wave of disgust. Had they both lost their minds? Was I the only one who saw how ridiculous this was?

He gazed at her with a softness I hadn’t seen in years. It made my skin crawl. Was I the only one seeing this for what it was?

Debbie had married a deadbeat in rural Ohio and lived a rough life. I’d thought, since we’re family, maybe we could help each other out. What a joke.

But I brought her here to help my mom, not to seduce my dad! God, what a nightmare.

I clenched my fists, trying not to shout. The unfairness of it all made my blood boil. I’d tried to do the right thing, and now it was blowing up in my face.

“She says her stomach hurts,” my dad said, his voice not quite as tough now, but still acting like nothing was wrong. I shot back, “And your wife isn’t sick?”

He shifted, not meeting my eyes. “Haley, that’s different. Debbie’s just not feeling well.”

My mom had uterine fibroids—not life-threatening, but still rough. It made me feel for her, seeing her in pain.

She never complained, but I saw the way she winced when she stood up too fast, or how she’d pause to catch her breath after climbing the stairs. Sometimes, I’d catch her rubbing her back when she thought no one was looking. The least she deserved was some peace at home.

My dad glared at me, but I pressed on. “If you think Aunt Debbie needs rest, just let her go. Why keep a sick person as a housekeeper? You might as well do the chores yourself—sweep, cook, take out the trash. It’d save money, too.”

I let the words hang, daring him to come back at me. The silence in the room was thick enough to choke on.

But instead, he kept letting my sick mom do the work. Like she didn’t matter. Like she didn’t have anyone in her corner.

I watched my mom shuffle into the kitchen, her shoulders slumped. It was like watching someone drown in slow motion, and I couldn’t stand it anymore. How could they do this to her?

My dad’s face darkened, probably thinking, How did I end up with a daughter who won’t just shut up and behave?

His jaw set, and I could almost hear the wheels turning in his head, tallying up all the times I’d talked back. I met his glare with one of my own.

And when Debbie heard me talk about firing her, she immediately choked up. “Eddie, it’s my fault. Haley rarely comes home—please don’t fight with her.”

She sniffled, working her best poor-me look. “I’m sorry, Eddie. I just want everyone to get along.”

“Wow, she’s the one getting out of hand!”

My dad’s anger boiled over, and he looked like he was about to toss me out of the house himself.

He slammed his fist on the coffee table, making the mugs rattle. “You always have to stir up trouble, Haley. Can’t you just let things be?”

I looked at Debbie’s little act, my face twisted with contempt. Did she really think I was buying this?

Her crocodile tears didn’t fool me for a second. Was I the only one not falling for this soap opera?

Sure enough, my dad looked at me like I’d just committed a felony. I lifted my chin and sneered, “Dad, why don’t you make a decision?”

I raised my chin, staring him down. “It’s your call, Dad. Are you choosing your daughter, or your housekeeper?”

“If you’re going to fight with your wife and daughter over some unrelated relative, maybe you should move out for a few days to clear your head.”

The suggestion just hung there, daring him to answer. My mom sucked in a sharp breath, but she stayed silent.

My dad’s face turned beet red, but he didn’t say a word. I could see the veins throbbing at his temples.

He clenched his jaw, veins popping at his temples. For a second, I thought he might actually do it.

Finally, he tried to play peacemaker. “It’s just a small thing. Why don’t you sit and talk with your mom? I’ll go cook.”

He shuffled off toward the kitchen, trying to act like he was smoothing things over, but his hands were shaking as he grabbed the skillet.

The door swung shut behind him, and suddenly the living room felt even colder than before. I could hear him clanging pots around, probably taking it out on the silverware.

Debbie immediately made a move to follow, but I couldn’t help myself—I laughed. “Aunt Debbie, what are you doing?”

I caught her by the arm, stopping her in her tracks. Her eyes darted to the kitchen, then back to me, like she was trying to figure out her next move.

If my dad wasn’t in the kitchen, she wouldn’t go, but the second he went in, she was right behind him?

She stammered, “Oh, I just thought he might need some help with dinner…”

“Your dad can’t cook. I’ll help—”

She tried to smile, glancing at my mom for backup, but it looked more like a grimace.

“Three minutes ago, you were clutching your stomach in pain. Maybe you should rest.”

I cut her off. “I hired you to take care of my mom, not my mom’s husband. If you can’t figure that out, you can go back to your hometown.”

I kept my voice cold as ice. There was no way I was letting her wriggle out of this. My mom looked down, embarrassed, but I didn’t let up.

Stop turning my house into a circus.

The words came out sharper than I meant, but honestly, I didn’t care. This was my house, and I was done letting her run the show.

Debbie’s eyes reddened. She stared at me for a couple of seconds, then ran upstairs, covering her mouth. Right then, something crashed in the kitchen.

A heavy thud echoed, followed by my dad’s muffled cursing. I rolled my eyes. How much longer was this circus going to last?

I turned and saw my dad bending down to pick up a spatula. He must’ve felt my eyes on him, because he turned away, looking awkward.

He avoided my gaze, pretending he was focused on the mess at his feet. His shoulders were hunched, like he’d aged ten years in an hour.

I frowned.

My mind spun, trying to figure out how things had gotten so messed up. This wasn’t the home I remembered.

With just my mom and me in the living room, I finally asked her, “Mom, how long has this been going on?”

I kept my voice soft, not wanting to push too hard. She looked away, her lips pressed into a thin line.

“Haley, just stay out of this.”

She sighed, patting my hand gently. “Just focus on your studies.”

Her voice was soft, almost pleading. She squeezed my fingers, like she could will me back into being her little girl who didn’t ask the hard questions.

“Mom!”

I sobered up, but no matter how I pressed, she kept her mouth shut. If I pushed too hard, she’d start to cry.

I took a deep breath, trying to hold back my frustration.

The last thing I wanted was to make her cry again.

Seriously…

I pinched the bridge of my nose, feeling a headache brewing. Why did she always have to play the martyr?

“You’re just going to let them walk all over you?”

“If you won’t tell me the truth, I’ll send Debbie packing tonight.”

My voice was firmer now. I wanted her to see she had options, that she didn’t have to just take this.

I tried to help, and this is what I get?

I felt a stab of resentment, thinking about all the sacrifices I’d made for this family.

Was it all for nothing?

“Your dad won’t agree. Don’t upset him anymore.”

My mom wiped her eyes, trying to smile, but I just grinned. “I hired her. You think I can’t fire her?”

I met her eyes, daring her to argue.

I wasn’t a kid anymore, and I was done tiptoeing around my dad’s temper.

“Haley…”

She wanted to say more, but stopped herself.

She squeezed my hand, her lips trembling.

For a moment, I thought she might finally open up, but the words just died in her throat.

She’s always been gentle and quiet, never one for words.

For years, she handled everything at home.

My dad used to treat her well, and life was warm and happy.

I remembered the way she used to hum while she cooked, the sound of her laughter filling the house.

It felt like a lifetime ago.

But now? Debbie had clearly gotten into his head.

It was like he couldn’t see past Debbie’s fake sweetness, couldn’t remember the woman who’d stood by him through everything.

At dinner, I tested my dad.

I watched him over the rim of my glass, waiting to see if he’d snap or play it cool.

He frowned. “You just do whatever you want, huh? Still acting like a child.”

His words stung, but I kept my face blank.

I kept my posture relaxed, staring him down.

Debbie let a couple tears fall into her bowl. “Haley, I really was feeling sick, but you hit me without even asking. If it’ll make you feel better, go ahead and hit me again.”

Her voice quivered, her lower lip trembling as she looked at me with those big, watery eyes.

I almost rolled mine.

“My family needs the money. I can’t go back.”

She clung to her bowl, knuckles white.

The room fell silent, her sobs the only sound.

She cried so hard her eyes turned red, clutching her face and sobbing like her world was ending.

She let out a long, shuddering breath, as if she was the only one in pain. My dad reached over, trying to comfort her, while my mom just sat there, staring at her plate.

My dad glared at me even harder, finally snapping, “If you keep making trouble, go back to school early!”

His voice was sharp, like a slap across the face.

I felt my cheeks burn, but I refused to look away.

I froze.

For a second, I couldn’t move.

The idea that he’d rather send me away than face the truth was almost too much to process.

He was actually willing to kick out his own daughter for Debbie?

The realization hit me like a punch to the gut.

My own father, choosing a housekeeper over his only child.

That’s a big problem.

I swallowed hard, my jaw set.

If he was willing to go this far, who knew what else he’d do?

If anyone says nothing’s going on, I don’t buy it.

I made a mental note: trust my gut, not their excuses.

This was bigger than a petty family fight.

“Dad, you’re kicking out your own daughter of twenty-two for a housekeeper who’s only been here two months?”

I made sure my voice was steady, clear enough for everyone to hear.

My mom flinched, but I pressed on.

He avoided my eyes. “Debbie’s had a hard life. You’re always causing trouble. Just stay a few days and behave.”

He muttered it, staring at the table like it was going to save him.

Debbie sniffled, her head bowed.

My mom gently patted my hand, signaling me to stop.

She squeezed my fingers, her eyes pleading.

I could see she was barely holding it together.

Just then, my phone rang. I excused myself, said I was full, and headed to my room to answer.

I slipped down the hallway, grateful for the distraction.

My hands shook as I pulled out my phone, trying to steady my breathing.

It was my best friend, reminding me her birthday was coming up and inviting me to dinner.

She asked if I wanted to get a full checkup at her hospital—she’s a doctor and could get me a deal.

Her voice was a welcome relief, light and teasing.

"Girl, you better not bail on my birthday again! And hey, I can get you the best rate for a checkup. You know you need it after dealing with your crazy family."

After the call, I came out and saw my mom cleaning up the dishes, while my dad and Debbie were cozied up on the couch watching TV.

The sight made my blood boil.

My mom's back was bent over the sink, her hands moving automatically.

Meanwhile, my dad and Debbie were sharing a bowl of popcorn, laughing at some sitcom rerun.

I raised my voice. “Mom, what are you doing?”

She jumped, startled, almost dropping a plate.

Debbie glanced over, her lips curling into a faint smirk.

My dad glanced back. “What’s the big deal? Debbie’s hands hurt, so your mom’s helping her wash the dishes.”

He said it like it was the most normal thing ever, like my mom’s pain didn’t even register.

Debbie, catching my glare, stood up fast. “It’s fine, I’ll do it.”

She tried to play the martyr, but I wasn’t buying it.

Her voice was too sweet, too rehearsed.

I sneered, pulling my mom behind me. “Great, you wash. Mom, come watch TV with me.”

I guided my mom to the couch, settling her beside me.

Debbie’s face stiffened, but in the end, she sulked off to the dining room to clear the table.

She shot me a glare over her shoulder, but I just smiled back, daring her to say something.

My dad was so angry his face turned red, slamming his mug down so hard coffee splashed everywhere.

The coffee splattered across the table, staining the runner.

My mom flinched, but I called out, “Aunt Debbie, after you finish the dishes, wipe down the coffee table.”

I made sure my voice was loud enough to echo through the house.

My dad's jaw clenched, but he didn't argue.

My dad gave in, grabbing a paper towel to clean the table himself.

He grumbled under his breath, but wiped up the mess, his pride wounded.

Oh, he sure cares about Debbie, doesn’t he?

I watched him fuss over the smallest details, all for Debbie's benefit.

It was almost pathetic.

Just as things quieted down, there was a crash and a scream from the kitchen.

The sound was sharp and sudden, making everyone jump.

I jumped to my feet, my heart pounding.

My dad jumped up from the couch, rushing to the kitchen, with my mom dragging me along behind.

We hurried down the hallway, my dad leading the way, my mom clutching my arm.

“What happened? Are you hurt?”

His voice was full of panic, like he was scared something truly terrible had happened.

“I broke Haley’s mug, and I cut my finger picking up the pieces.”

Debbie held out her bleeding finger, crying, and my dad carefully bandaged her up.

She milked the injury for all it was worth, sniffling as my dad fussed over her.

My mug—a souvenir from my best friend—lay shattered on the floor.

Watching them act so close, then seeing my mom’s hurt expression, I frowned.

My mom’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, her lips pressed tight. I bit the inside of my cheek, willing myself not to snap.

Debbie asked, all fake concern, “Haley, you’re not mad at Aunt Debbie, are you?”

She looked up at me, her voice trembling, as if she really cared what I thought.

Arms crossed, I stared at her coldly. “Not at all.”

I forced a smile, my tone icy. "Why would I be mad? Accidents happen."

She opened her mouth, probably to gloat, but I cut her off before she could get a word in.

I cut in, “That mug was a gift from my friend in Australia. It cost four hundred bucks. I’ll deduct it from your pay this month.”

I held her gaze, daring her to argue. My dad’s eyes widened, but I didn’t back down.

Trying to throw attitude at me? She should look in the mirror.

I raised an eyebrow, letting her know I wasn't going to let this slide. Not anymore.

“What for?”

Debbie exploded. “That cheap mug is worth four hundred? You’re just picking on me.”

Her voice went up an octave, her hands balled into fists. She glared at me like I'd just kicked her puppy.

I pulled out my phone and showed her the receipt.

I scrolled to the order confirmation, shoving the screen in her face. "See? Four hundred. Imported."

Debbie instantly clung to my dad’s arm. “Eddie, I didn’t mean to.”

She buried her face in his sleeve, her voice muffled by fake tears. My dad patted her hand, his eyes cold as he looked at me.

My dad patted her hand and glared at me. “She’s your aunt. We’re family. Why make a fuss over four hundred dollars? I’ll Venmo you.”

He pulled out his phone, acting like that would solve everything. Debbie shot me a smug, victorious look.

She fluttered her injured hand in the air, her eyes wide with innocence. My stomach turned.

My dad turned to my mom. “Debbie’s hand is injured. She can’t get it wet. You’ll have to handle the housework for now.”

He said it like it was the most reasonable thing in the world. My mom just nodded, her face blank.

She stood there, her shoulders slumped, her eyes fixed on the floor. I felt a surge of anger rise up in me.

Bang!

I grabbed my dad’s favorite vintage teapot from the cabinet and smashed it on the floor. My dad flinched, meeting my icy stare and snapping back to reality.

The sound of porcelain shattering echoed through the kitchen. My dad's eyes went wide, and for a moment, he looked genuinely scared.

I smiled. “Dad, maybe I should do the chores. I could use the practice.”

I let the words hang, my smile tight. He stared at me, speechless.

I was doing it on purpose—making sure my dad saw every bit of it.

I locked eyes with him, daring him to say something. This was my line in the sand.

It’s not hard to break things, after all.

I shrugged, stepping back from the mess. "Things are just things, right?"

“I’ll do it, I’ll do it. Work’s slow at the office anyway. I’ll handle the chores.”

My dad put on gloves and started cleaning up the mess.

He grumbled under his breath, sweeping up the shards. Debbie hovered in the doorway, looking unsure.

Debbie wanted to help, but didn’t dare in front of me, so she scurried back to her room.

She shot me one last look, then disappeared upstairs, her footsteps heavy on the stairs.

Seeing my mom’s eyes rimmed red, I pulled her into her room and asked quietly, “Mom, be honest—what’s really going on with them?”

I closed the door behind us, lowering my voice. My mom sank onto the bed, her hands trembling.

Tears streamed down her face, silent and steady. I sat beside her, rubbing her back in slow circles.

I can’t stand seeing my mom cry. I hugged her gently. “It’s okay, Mom. I’m always on your side. If you can’t stay with Dad, we’ll get a divorce and I’ll take care of you.”

She buried her face in my shoulder, her sobs muffled. I stroked her hair, promising myself I’d never let her be alone again.

“Don’t say that.”

She finally spoke. “Maybe your dad just feels sorry for your aunt.”

Her voice was shaky, but I could tell she was trying to make excuses for him, even now.

I snorted. “Mom, do you think I’m blind?”

I let out a short, bitter laugh. "He's not fooling anyone, least of all me."

She tried to reassure me. “Your dad treats me well. He’s never hit or yelled at me. He gives me all the money. What more do women want, really? Just some peace.”

She said it like she was trying to convince herself. I squeezed her hand, wishing I could make her see her own worth.

“Don’t worry about me. I’m old enough to know what’s going on. But you—are you seeing anyone? Not to nag, but you’re twenty-two already.”

She tried to smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. I rolled my eyes, but I knew she was just trying to change the subject.

I understood her—she was always avoiding conflict, probably because my dad had been manipulating her for years.

I made a mental note: no more letting things slide. If she wouldn't fight for herself, I would.

I needed to get her out of this.

I squeezed her shoulder, silently promising I’d find a way.

I sighed. “Mom, stop changing the subject. If you don’t want to talk, we won’t.”

She nodded, her eyes red. I pulled her into a hug, and we sat like that for a while, listening to the muffled sounds of the TV downstairs.

Back in my room, I tossed and turned, unable to sleep. Just thinking about Debbie made me feel sick, like I’d swallowed a fly.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her smug face, her hands wrapped around my dad’s arm. I punched my pillow, wishing I could make it all go away.

With only seven days for the holiday, I had to fix this fast.

I made a mental checklist: expose Debbie, protect my mom, and get my dad to see reason. Seven days wasn't much, but it would have to be enough.