Chapter 1: The Gift That Broke Us

Sunday night, I was working late at the office when my mom FaceTimed me out of the blue.

The fluorescent lights above buzzed, casting their sickly white glow over a desk buried in paperwork. I rubbed my tired eyes—no matter how many forms I filled out, the stack never seemed to shrink. My phone vibrated, my mom’s name lighting up the screen. I hesitated, glancing at the clock—8:17 PM. Probably just a check-in. But as soon as I picked up, my screen exploded with chaos: a full-blown family dinner back home.

There they were—relatives, family friends, all crammed around our dinner table. Plates, glasses, elbows everywhere.

The camera jostled, catching flashes of Aunt Linda’s famous potato salad, a bowl of mashed sweet potatoes, and the old wooden hutch in our dining room, cluttered with mismatched plates from every holiday we’d ever celebrated. For a second, nostalgia hit me—but the air felt charged, tension humming beneath the laughter, like a thunderstorm waiting to break.

My Uncle Dave, face red and veins popping, jabbed a finger at a designer box on the table and barked, "Kid, even if you’re strapped for cash, you can’t give your mom something like this. It’s bad luck. You’re not a kid anymore—how can you still be so clueless?"

His voice thundered across the table, and even the family dog slunk under a chair. Uncle Dave had this knack for blowing up the tiniest thing into a spectacle. Tonight, he was in rare form. The rest of the table watched—some with tight-lipped smiles, others shaking their heads. The designer box sat in the middle of the table like Exhibit A.

Seriously, I had no idea why he was coming after me. Frowning, I asked my mom, "What’s going on?"

I could see the worry lines etched deeper than usual on her face, her hand trembling as she tried to steady the phone. Not good. My chest tightened, bracing for whatever came next.

Her eyes were red. She’d been crying, obviously.

She tried to smile for the camera, but her voice wobbled. The familiar living room behind her. Suddenly, it felt foreign—like I was peering into someone else’s life.

"Honey, you’re all grown up. You bought your mom a gift. I was so happy, I put it up on Facebook for everyone to see."

She sniffled, brushing at her cheek. I remembered how she’d always brag about me to anyone who’d listen. I used to hate when she did that, but tonight, I wished she’d kept it to herself.

"Your uncle and the others came over for dinner today. While I was making dinner, they opened the gift and found a white chrysanthemum inside."

Back home, white chrysanthemums are funeral flowers—bad omen.

Her voice trailed off, and she looked away from the screen, hoping I’d get it without her having to spell it out. The background noise faded for a moment, replaced by a heavy silence.

I set down my cup of ramen. What was she talking about? My brow knitted even tighter.

The noodles had gone cold, forgotten. My appetite vanished. I pressed my palm to my forehead, trying to piece together what she’d just said. A white chrysanthemum? That didn’t make any sense.

A chrysanthemum? Why would I send that?

My mind raced, replaying the last few weeks: the late nights, the emails, the careful budgeting. No way. Not possible.

I was sure I’d bought her a bottle of daisy-scented designer perfume. It had cost me two months of hard-earned savings. So how the hell did it end up as a chrysanthemum?

I remembered double-checking the order, watching the tracking updates every day. I’d even paid for gift wrapping. Had the store messed up? Or was someone screwing with me?

My Aunt Linda patted my mom’s shoulder and snickered, "Sis, honestly, what’s the point of raising a son? Daughters are way more thoughtful."

She let out a dramatic sigh, the kind that always made my skin crawl. Classic Aunt Linda. She loved an audience, and tonight, she had one. The other women at the table exchanged knowing glances, like they’d been waiting for her to get that line in.

She waved the bag in her hand. "Look, my daughter’s an executive at a big company out in California now. She bought me this designer purse—heard it cost five or six grand, probably more than you make in a year, huh?"

She let the purse dangle from her arm, the price tag still attached, making sure everyone noticed. Her words stung, but I could tell she was more interested in one-upping my mom than actually caring about what happened.

"Oh, and she bought me a condo. Right next to yours. We’ll be neighbors now—so let’s keep in touch."

She leaned in, dropping her voice just enough to make sure the whole table could hear. My mom’s smile faltered. The rest of the table chuckled—some polite, some just awkward.

I gripped my phone tighter, wanting to reach through the screen and shut her up for good.

My mom’s voice was already starting to choke up. "Danny, I believe you. You wouldn’t do something like this."

It was that same voice from when I was little—trying to be strong for me, even when she was the one hurting.

"Even if you just gave me a flower, I’d still be happy. I just... I didn’t handle things well. I embarrassed you."

She wiped at her eyes, her shoulders shaking. I could see her glancing at the relatives, as if searching for some support, but all she got were smirks and sideways glances. Nobody stepped in. Not one.

I swallowed hard, guilt and anger knotting in my gut.

My mom always loved the scent of daisies. Back when we lived out in the sticks, she grew them everywhere.

I remembered summers running barefoot through her flowerbeds. The air always smelled sweet—daisies, dirt, hope. She’d make little daisy crowns for me, humming old songs while she worked.

This year was my first job, my first Mother’s Day. I’d saved up to buy her an expensive bottle of perfume—wanted her to feel proud, just once. So those relatives from back home would stop looking down on her.

I’d pictured her unwrapping it, her face lighting up, maybe even bragging a little to Aunt Linda for once. Instead, she was sitting there, humiliated. And it was all my fault.

But it all blew up in my face. She was the punchline.

The laughter felt like knives. I clenched my jaw, feeling powerless. A thousand miles away, and I couldn’t do a damn thing.

"It came straight from the official store—there’s no way this is on me. Someone must’ve swiped it."

I spoke quickly, trying to keep my voice steady. I pulled up the receipt, hands shaking.

A burst of laughter erupted on the other end.

The sound was harsh, echoing through the phone. Even my little cousin mimicked the adults, not realizing how much it stung.

"With your fifteen hundred a month and living out of town, you really expect us to buy this? Stop pretending—we’re family, no need for the act."

Uncle Dave sat back, arms crossed. Case closed, at least in his mind. The others nodded along, feeding off his energy. Their words hit harder than I expected.

"Only you would think of stuffing a chrysanthemum in a designer box."

Aunt Linda snorted, rolling her eyes. "City kids—always trying to look fancy, but it’s all for show." I could almost hear the clinking of glasses as they toasted themselves, like they’d solved some big mystery.

"Probably just wanted Sis to show off on Facebook, make yourself look good. Sure, big cities have more opportunities—who knows which dumpster he fished that box out of? Bet he never thought we’d open it. He couldn’t even be bothered to buy a knockoff."

Their laughter grew louder, drowning out my mom’s protests. She looked so small, trying to disappear.

I bit my lip, hard. I tasted blood.

My mom cries easily.

Even as a kid, I’d watch her wipe away tears at sappy commercials or family movies. But tonight was different.

I could see her mouth moving, but the words were lost in the chaos. My fists clenched in my lap. All I could do was watch.