The living room was an explosion of red velvet ribbon, wrapping paper scraps, and the thick,

Mark stood on the porch, his breath pluming in the freezing air, snow dusting the shoulders of his jacket. He looked exhausted. The dark circles under his eyes made him look ten years older than thirty-two.

“Hey, Evan,” Mark said, his voice quiet, almost hesitant. “Can I... can I come in for a minute? Just to talk?”

Evan looked back at me over his shoulder. I nodded.

Evan unlocked the storm door and pulled it open. “Come on in, Mark. Stamp your boots off.”

Mark stepped into the entryway, kicking off his boots onto the rubber mat. He held out the bakery box toward me with an awkward, apologetic smile. “I brought those cherry cheese pastries from the German bakery on 5th Street. The ones you like.”

“Thanks, Mark,” I said, gesturing toward the kitchen. “Come sit down. I’ll pour some fresh coffee.”

We sat around the kitchen table. For a few minutes, the only sound was the hum of the refrigerator and the clinking of coffee mugs. Mark stared down at the steam rising from his cup, nervously picking at the cardboard edge of the pastry box.

“I came to apologize,” Mark finally said, lifting his head to meet my gaze. “I should have said something years ago, Maya. I should have stood up to her when we were kids. And I definitely should have tackled her before she opened her mouth at Christmas.”

“You didn’t know what she was going to say, Mark,” I said gently.

“No, but I knew what she was *capable* of,” Mark countered bitterly. “I’ve spent thirty years watching Mom pick you apart. Every holiday, every family dinner, every milestone. She always had a needle for you. And I just... I stayed quiet because she treated me like the golden boy, and I was too cowardly to risk her turning that venom on me.”

Hearing my brother say those words out loud was surreal. All my life, I had felt like the crazy one—the sensitive, overly emotional daughter who couldn't take a joke.

“Jenna told me you walked out on her,” I said.

Mark let out a harsh laugh. “Oh, it got worse after she called you from Dad’s phone. When you blocked that number, she completely lost her mind. She started screaming that you were an ungrateful brat, that you were going to turn Lily into a freak just like yourself, and that she was going to write you out of the will.”

I shrugged. “She can keep her money.”

“That’s what I told her,” Mark said. “I told her, ‘Mom, Maya doesn't care about your money. Nobody cares about your money. We care about basic human decency.’ And then she looked at me and said, ‘If you leave, don't bother coming back for New Year’s Eve either.’ So I grabbed Jenna and the kids, and we walked.”

“How is Dad?” I asked, feeling a lingering twinge of concern.

Mark’s expression hardened with disgust. “Dad is Dad. He sat on the recliner with his drink, stared at the television, and told everyone to stop shouting. He’s completely enabled her his entire life, Maya. When I walked out the door, he didn't even look up. He’s chosen his prison.”

“So what’s happening with New Year’s Eve?” Evan asked from the counter, arms crossed.

Every year, my parents hosted a massive New Year’s Eve cocktail party for fifty of their country club friends, neighbors, and extended family. It was Carol’s crowning social event of the season.

“It’s a disaster for her,” Mark smiled, a genuine, vindictive grin spreading across his face. “Aunt Clara called the entire extended family. Aunt Clara was so disgusted by what Mom said about Lily that she canceled her RSVP. Then Uncle Dave and the cousins pulled out. Now half the country club crowd is asking why her own children aren't attending.”

The social facade was cracking. The one thing Carol cared about more than life itself—appearances—was disintegrating before her eyes.

“She’s going to do something desperate, Maya,” Mark warned, leaning in closer. “She called my house five times this morning. She’s spiraling. She realizes that without you, me, and the grandkids there, the whole town will know the truth: that Carol Miller drove her entire family away with her cruelty.”

“Let her spiral,” I said, feeling no remorse. “She made her bed.”

Just then, the soft sounds of Lily waking up drifted through the baby monitor on the counter—little coos, the rustle of sheets, and a bright, happy giggle.

Mark’s face softened instantly. “Can I see her?” he asked, his voice cracking slightly. “Just for a second?”