Every Thanksgiving, Jennifer faced the question she dreaded most: *Why don’t you speak to your mother?* She wished her family would accept her decision, but once again, the question surfaced. This year, however, Jennifer couldn’t avoid the conversation.
Gripping the steering wheel tightly, Jennifer’s knuckles turned white as she focused on the road ahead. Her Bluetooth earpiece carried her dad’s steady voice into her ear.
“Dad, why do we have to go through this every year?” she asked, frustration bubbling beneath her words.
“Because she’s your mother, Jen. You can’t just ignore her,” he replied, firm yet gentle.
“I’m not ignoring her!” Jennifer shot back defensively, though the conversation felt like a broken record.
Her dad’s tone softened. “You don’t call her, write to her, or even stay for the holidays.”
“No, I don’t!” she snapped, her voice a mix of hurt and anger. “Am I supposed to forget everything that happened? She’ll never admit she was wrong.”
“Talk to her. You don’t know what she’s thinking. I forgave her, even though she has a difficult personality,” he pleaded.
Jennifer clenched the wheel tighter. “You shouldn’t have…”
“All I’m asking is for you to come tonight and have dinner as a family. We shouldn’t let this tear us apart.”
“So, I’m the one breaking up the family? Not Mom?” Jennifer’s voice was sharp, bitterness laced in her words.
“You know that’s not what I meant…” her father said quietly, his patience unwavering.
Jennifer sighed, forcing herself to calm down. “Fine. I’ll come for dinner. But I’m not promising to stay till the end.”
“That’s good enough for me. See you soon, honey.”
“Goodbye, Dad.” She ended the call and sank back into her seat, sighing deeply.
It had been three years since Jennifer had last spoken to her mother, Sarah. She still remembered the painful words Sarah had said after the sudden split with her father: *“I’ve wanted this for a long time but only found the courage now that the kids are grown.”*
Jennifer couldn’t understand how her mother could treat their family as a burden. Growing up, Sarah had always been wrapped up in her world—studying, working, socializing—and rarely had time for Jennifer or her sister Carly. Jennifer had practically raised Carly, taking on responsibilities far beyond her years.
Now, every Thanksgiving, Sarah would call, pretending to miss the family she had left behind. Jennifer parked in the gravel driveway of her childhood home and took a deep breath as she looked at the familiar house. It was full of memories—some happy, most painful.
Thomas, her father, stepped outside, waving warmly. Next to him was Carly, bouncing with excitement. Through the window, Jennifer caught a glimpse of her mother, Sarah, watching from the shadows.
Jennifer climbed out of the car and greeted her dad and sister, forcing a smile. Inside, however, tension hung heavy in the air. Jennifer and Sarah worked silently side by side in the kitchen, the unspoken distance between them growing with each passing moment.
Finally, the quiet broke. “Am I doing everything wrong?” Jennifer snapped after noticing Sarah silently adjusting the table settings.
Sarah’s calm reply only fueled Jennifer’s frustration. “I’m just helping you do it right.”
The argument escalated, voices rising, until Thomas intervened. “It’s Thanksgiving. Please, let’s not fight.”
Jennifer, overwhelmed, stormed upstairs to her childhood bedroom. There, memories washed over her as she spotted her old desk and a forgotten doll, Miss Monica, tucked in a drawer. Cradling the doll, she felt a mixture of nostalgia and heartache.
A soft knock interrupted her thoughts. Sarah entered, her eyes falling on the doll in Jennifer’s hands.
“I’m sorry,” Sarah said quietly.
“For what? Leaving us? Being absent? Tonight?” Jennifer’s voice was guarded.
“For everything,” Sarah admitted, her voice heavy with regret. She sat beside Jennifer, reaching out gently. “I made mistakes, and I can’t change the past. But I want to make things right now.”
Jennifer’s guarded expression softened slightly as tears welled in her eyes. “That’s a lot to forgive in one day.”
Sarah nodded. “It’s more than a day, Jen. It’s a start. I love you. I always have.”
After a moment of silence, Jennifer offered a small smile. “Let’s try.”
Sarah squeezed her hand, relief evident on her face. “How about we go downstairs and eat the meal we worked so hard on?”
Jennifer chuckled softly, wiping her tears. “Okay, Mom. It’s a start.”
