Every year at Thanksgiving, Jennifer was forced to confront a question she wished would vanish: “Why don’t you speak to your mother?” She longed for her family to understand her decision, but this time, the issue resurfaced, leaving Jennifer with no choice but to face it head-on.

With a tight grip on the steering wheel, Jennifer’s knuckles turned white, underscoring her tension as she navigated the road.

Her dad’s comforting voice resonated through her earpiece, maintaining its familiar calmness.

“Dad, I just don’t get why we have to discuss this over and over every Thanksgiving,” she lamented, her frustration simmering.

“She’s your mother, Jen. Ignoring her isn’t an option,” her father replied gently, yet insistently.

“I’m not ignoring her!” Jennifer retorted, defensiveness lacing her words.

It was an all-too-familiar conversation.

“You don’t call, you don’t write, you don’t want to stay for Thanksgiving,” her father continued, his voice softening.

“I have no intention of doing so.” Jennifer’s voice carried a mix of hurt and anger.

“Dad, am I expected to ignore the past? She won’t even admit she was wrong,” she argued.

“Talk to her, Jen. Understand her thoughts. She can be difficult, but I’ve forgiven her,” he said earnestly.

The tension in Jennifer rose, her grip on the wheel stiffened.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have,” she countered.

“I’m just asking you to join us for dinner tonight. Family shouldn’t break apart over this,” pleaded her dad.

“So, I’m the family divider? Not mom?” Bitterness seeped into Jennifer’s voice.

“That’s not what I meant,” he responded patiently.

Jennifer exhaled deeply to calm her temper. “Alright, I’ll come for dinner, but I can’t promise to stay till the end.”

“That’s more than enough, dear. I’ll see you tonight. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye, Dad,” Jennifer murmured before the call ended.

Exhaling a weary sigh, Jennifer settled back into her seat. It had been nearly three years since she last spoke with her mother, Sarah.

The abrupt split between Sarah and her father felt raw, the recollection of her mother’s cold words still stung: “It’s a decision I’ve long wanted, but only dared to make now, with grown kids.”

Jennifer grappled with how her mother could perceive their family as a burden. Throughout her upbringing, she never felt a close connection with Sarah.

Sarah was often preoccupied—immersed in her studies, career, and socializing—seldom sparing time for the family, least of all Jennifer. Consequently, Jennifer shouldered responsibilities meant for someone far older.

As Carly’s older sibling, Jennifer effectively raised her, filling in the void left by Sarah’s absence.

Jennifer prepared meals, helped Carly with schoolwork, and managed the household. Yet, Sarah would consistently reach out each Thanksgiving, expressing how much she missed them, as if she hadn’t chosen to detach herself.

This year, Jennifer anticipated the same superficial pleasantries, the trivial exchanges she dreaded aligning with her arrival at the family home.

She pulled into the familiar driveway, took a breath, and stared at the house where many of her childhood memories—both fond and sorrowful—were embedded. Located near the woods, it stood somewhat isolated from the bustle of the city.

Through her windshield, she saw her father emerge, his face brightening upon noticing her, while Carly bounced excitedly beside him.

Glancing at the house, Jennifer noticed her mother, Sarah, behind the window, quietly observing.

“Jen! You made it!” Thomas greeted warmly.

“Hi, Dad. Hi, Carly,” she called back, stepping out with a smile she hoped felt genuine.

Her father’s embrace was strong, comforting, despite an underlying unease. Then, with enduring fondness, she ruffled Carly’s hair.

“Jen, I’m 23 now!” Carly laughed, brushing her hands away.

Jennifer chuckled. “But you’ll always be my little sis.”

Rolling her eyes, Carly gestured toward the entrance. “Let’s head inside; it’s freezing and we need to prep the turkey!”

Nodding, Jennifer’s smile faltered approaching the door, where Sarah awaited with an inscrutable expression.

They exchanged a glance—Jennifer’s forced warmth meeting Sarah’s cool demeanor.

“Hi, Mom,” Jennifer greeted, determined to sound steady.

“Hello, Jennifer,” Sarah responded, her tone civil but distant.

They walked into the home together, the silence heavy between them.

As night fell, rain battered against the windows, its relentless rhythm filling the home.

Outside, a storm raged fiercely, winds howling through the trees, while lightning intermittently lit up the dark sky.

Working side by side in the kitchen, Jennifer and Sarah might as well have been worlds apart, neither speaking a word. Moving efficiently within their spaces, the tension was palpable.

Jennifer concentrated on table-setting, carefully placing each piece. Yet Sarah would subtly adjust the cutlery, insinuating Jennifer’s lack of precision.

Jennifer fought to suppress her irritation as Sarah frowned, inspecting the appetizers as if something was amiss. It evoked memories of childhood critiques, chipping away at her patience.

Finally, she reached her limit.

“Enough! Why am I always wrong?” Her voice spiked in frustration.

Unperturbed, Sarah met her gaze. “Just making it right…”

“Right? Or your version of right?”

“Right is simply right.”

“You act like you’re perfect!”

Sarah’s response was sharp. “I never neglected my mom.”

“Well, she wasn’t absent my entire life!”

Tension escalated when Thomas stepped in, intent on mediating. “Let’s remember, it’s Thanksgiving. No more fighting, please.”

But amid their heated emotions, neither Jennifer nor Sarah cooled down.

“Attending was a mistake. I should head home,” Jennifer announced, her voice trembling.

Thomas attempted to soothe her. “It’s too dangerous in this storm. You can’t leave now.”

Jennifer paused, looking at the window, the rain relentless against the glass, as if attempting to warn her. Exhausted, she fended off Thomas’ touch, storming upstairs.

Safely in her childhood room, she shut the door, emotions churning.

Sporadically texting Carly and glancing at old mementos, a soft knock interrupted her solitude.

Sarah hesitantly entered, eyes settling on Jennifer clutching her childhood doll.

“Jen… I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Guarded, Jennifer demanded, “Sorry for what? Leaving, or tonight?”

“For everything,” Sarah replied, voice tender.

“Forgiveness isn’t easy in one go,” Jennifer confessed.

Sarah’s gaze softened, landing on the doll. “Miss Monica, right?”

“Yes, I loved her. You remembered?”

“Of course. You were elated when you saw her that day.”

Sarah’s hand rested softly on Jennifer’s, warmth in her touch. “I’ve made errors. Sorry for making you grow up quickly. Despite everything, my love for you hasn’t changed.”

“How do you feel about me?” Jennifer asked, voice barely there.

“I love you, Jen. Always have. Let me try to fix the past.”

Jennifer offered a small uncertain smile, her eyes shimmering with tears. “Let’s try.”

“Now, let’s enjoy our hard work in the kitchen together,” Sarah suggested warmly.

Jennifer wiped her eyes, smiling. “Alright, Mom. It’s a start.”