“Noel, I just couldn’t take it anymore,” I remember telling him one night over dinner. His smile was kind as he reached across the table to hold my hand.
“You don’t have to explain, June. You did the right thing. You deserve more than being a second choice,” he reassured me.
In the years since I’d left, my connection with the family had dwindled. The calls stopped, texts became rare, and it felt like my absence didn’t even register with them. The only one who still kept in touch was Gran. She’d call me just to hear about my day, even if it was mundane or messy. She made me feel like I mattered.
Then one day, I found out she had died — by accident. I didn’t hear from my family; I found out through a Facebook post, of all things. Gran’s photo, a date, and a “Rest in Peace” message from an old family friend. I couldn’t believe it. The pain and shock hit me all at once, and the betrayal burned even deeper. How could they not tell me?
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