I even brought it up to Alex during dinner one evening. “Do you think everyone’s still upset that we missed Thanksgiving last year?” I asked, trying to figure out the shift.
Alex looked up from his laptop. “I doubt it. We’ve missed gatherings before, and your mom always says people understand,” he reassured me. But his words didn’t ease my anxiety, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being left out.
For months, the silence from my family felt awkward and unnatural. No calls, no messages. It was as if I was being pushed out of my own family’s story. I confided in my mom, who brushed off my concerns. “Everyone knows how busy you and Alex are. It’s not a big deal,” she said. But the nagging feeling only grew stronger.
One afternoon, while out running errands, I accidentally bumped into my Aunt Linda. Her arms were full of groceries, and her face lit up when she saw me. “Emily! It’s been so long!” she said, clearly happy to see me.
I was thrilled too. “Aunt Linda! We’ve missed you! How have you been?” But her smile faded as we hugged, and her tone shifted. “I’m doing alright, dear. I was just at a family gathering. It’s a shame you and Alex couldn’t make it.”
My heart sank. “A gathering? We didn’t even know there was one,” I said, confused. Aunt Linda hesitated before speaking again, her voice more serious this time. “Emily, can I ask you something?”
“Of course, Aunt Linda. What’s going on?”
She took a deep breath. “Is it true what I’ve heard? About you and Alex?”
I froze. “What have you heard?” I asked, my mind racing.
“Your mom told me you’ve been involved in some kind of con artist scheme, and that Alex is using his tech skills for it,” she said, her voice low and worried. “I didn’t want to believe it, but…”
I was completely blindsided. “What? That’s not true at all!” I said, tears welling up in my eyes. I couldn’t believe this was happening. I knew I had to confront my parents immediately.
Later that day, I video-called them, my heart pounding. As soon as their faces appeared on the screen, I didn’t waste any time. “Why are you telling people we’re con artists? Aunt Linda just told me everything!” I said, struggling to keep my emotions in check.
My dad’s expression was unreadable. “Because that’s what you told us,” he said calmly, looking straight at the camera.
I was stunned. “I never said that!” I fired back, my frustration boiling over. “Why would you spread such a terrible lie?”
My mom, avoiding eye contact, left the room, leaving my dad to continue. His voice grew colder. “You must have forgotten,” he said dismissively, as though it were no big deal. Then he quickly tried to change the subject.
The conversation ended without any real answers. My parents continued to insist that I had somehow said those things, as if trying to downplay the seriousness of the situation. “No one thinks any less of you,” they added, as though that made it any better.
I hung up feeling hurt, confused, and betrayed. How could my own family believe such a thing? And worse, how could they think I would ever say that about myself and Alex?
