Dad forgot to hang up the call. «She’s nothing! A failure, should’ve never been born…

What does your gut tell you? Dr. Richardson asked during our session. That I’m not ready to see them, I admitted. The thought of sitting across a table from my father, pretending everything is fine.

I can’t do it yet. Then don’t. Your healing timeline is your own.

I chose option three, decorating my apartment with tasteful but festive touches, a small tree in the corner, twinkling lights along the balcony railing, handmade wreaths I’d created at a community workshop. I invited eight people for Christmas Eve dinner, including Gabriel and Monica from work with her husband. The day before the gathering, my doorbell rang.

A delivery person handed me a package from Heather. Inside were handmade ornaments from the children, along with a card that brought tears to my eyes. We miss you, but we understand.

Building your own traditions is important too. Love you, sis. I hung the ornaments prominently on my tree, photographing them to send with my thanks.

As I was about to put my phone away, it rang. A Chicago number, I recognized immediately. My father.

For a moment, I considered letting it go to voicemail, but something prompted me to answer. Hello? Audrey. His voice sounded older, smaller somehow.

Merry Christmas. Merry Christmas, Dad, I replied, keeping my tone neutral. Your mother and I. He began, then cleared his throat.

We’re in our own place now. A small apartment near Heather. That’s good.

I’m glad to hear it. An awkward silence stretched between us. I waited, refusing to fill it as I once would have.

Things have been difficult, he finally continued. Financially. The rental market here is worse than we expected.

Ah, there it was. The real purpose of the call. I’m sorry to hear that.

Another pause, longer this time. I could almost hear his internal struggle. Pride wrestling with need.

Expectation battling with the new reality. Audrey, I know things ended badly. But we’re your parents.

We need. Dad, I interrupted gently but firmly. I’m not in a position to provide financial support anymore.

My life has changed. My expenses and priorities are different now. But family helps family, he insisted.

The familiar guilt tactic emerging. Yes, they do. And that help can take many forms.

I’m happy to stay in touch. To rebuild a relationship based on mutual respect. But my financial support is no longer an option.

The silence that followed told me everything about his true priorities. When he spoke again, his voice was tight with suppressed anger. I see.

Well, Merry Christmas then. Merry Christmas. Dad, I repeated.

Ending the call before he could continue. I stood on my balcony afterward. Watching snow fall gently on the city below.

Six months ago, that conversation would have left me devastated. Wracked with guilt and self-doubt. Now, I felt only a calm certainty that I had made the right decision.

Not just for my financial well-being. But for my emotional health. Christmas Eve arrived with perfect rocky mountain clarity.

Brilliant blue skies contrasting with snow-covered peaks in the distance. My apartment filled with delicious aromas as I prepared dinner. Something I’d once done out of obligation…