Every holiday visit to my in-laws carried an unspoken rule: be agreeable, stay composed, and never let discomfort show. Christmas only magnified that pressure.
The house sparkled with lights and ornaments, voices floated through the room in practiced cheer, yet I felt constantly on edge, as if one wrong step might crack the surface calm.
That evening, when my mother-in-law suggested we stop for a prayer, I relaxed slightly. I expected something short and familiar—safe words everyone could nod along to. Instead, her voice lingered, stretching the moment. The prayer slowly turned into something else entirely. She spoke about hopes for “necessary changes,” about careers moving in the right direction, about families becoming what they were “meant” to be, about traditions being brought back to where they belonged.
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