They reached out at Christmas with fake cheer and empty words, trying to reconnect. I ignored them. Then they ambushed me at church. I pretended not to know them.Later, they called asking for help—financial help. “After all we’ve done for you,” my mother said. “You didn’t raise me,” I replied. “Aunt Lisa and Uncle Rob did.” That was the last straw. I hung up.
On New Year’s Day, as I laughed around the dinner table with the only real family I’ve ever known, I realized something powerful:Family isn’t who shares your blood. It’s who shows up. And mine showed up every single day.
