I said no. It wasn’t my responsibility, and it certainly wasn’t what Mom would have wanted. He snapped, calling me heartless, and gave me an ultimatum: help Mya or be cut out of the family. But I stood firm. I refused to let him use guilt to betray my mother’s memory.
The backlash was immediate—calls from relatives, harsh words, and judgment. I blocked them all. Sitting in Mom’s favorite chair that night, holding her old coffee mug, I realized something: I didn’t abandon my family—they abandoned me the day they sided with the man who broke us. And finally, I chose myself.
