The Christmas I Was Told I Didn’t Belong

“The tamales you said reminded you of your grandmother?”

“That was different.”

“Because now your parents are around,” I said. “And you don’t want the Mexican peasant embarrassing you.”

Her voice hardened.

“This isn’t about race,” she snapped. “It’s about class.”

Then she mentioned Maria.

That was the moment everything ended.

I hung up without another word.

I opened the folder I’d avoided for months.

Bank statements.
Mortgage transfers.
Payment histories.

Proof of how much I had bled to keep them afloat.

Canceling the mortgage took less than five minutes.

“Effective immediately,” I said into the phone.

When I hung up, the silence felt clean.

That night, I burned five years of bank statements in my fireplace.

Watched the paper curl and blacken.

Poured myself a drink.Continue reading…