I put my phone away and went to check on a kid who was breathing, and I was grateful for that.
The next day at lunch, I called Melissa. “Hey,” I said.
“What’s up?” she answered, bright and casual.
“About the list.”
“It’s not that deep,” she said. “You always overthink.”
“I can’t buy all that.”
“You won’t or you can’t?” She said it like those were the only two settings I came with.
“I won’t,” I said.
She laughed. “Okay, principled. Get whatever. Just don’t make it weird.”
We hung up. I stared at the sandwich I did not want.
I thought about every small yes that had turned into an expectation with a bow on top. I thought about the kids. None of this was their fault. They were repeating what they heard. Rich uncle. Cheap. Don’t be weird.
I pulled out a sheet of paper and wrote a plan the way doctors write plans: clear steps, time frames, numbers, follow-up, expected outcomes.
Not revenge. Not a stunt. A boundary in writing.
I booked three things that afternoon:
A financial counselor for Melissa, prepaid for six sessions.
A family therapist, first three sessions covered.
Two days of movers with packing supplies—in case she chose to downsize to the apartment she had been talking about since July but had never actually called.
I also bought grocery gift cards that required attendance at the budgeting sessions to activate. Yes, I was that specific. I am a man who writes orders for a living.
Christmas morning, I brought nothing you could plug into a wall. I brought 12 large boxes and a sealed envelope.
We do brunch on Christmas at my parents’ house. Pajamas, waffles, bacon, orange juice in the good glasses, kids tearing paper like confetti cannons went off inside.
I arrived in scrubs under a sweater, with a bruised thumb and an envelope in my coat pocket. My plan was not to ruin the day. My plan was to stop the bleeding.
“Uncle Andrew!” Chloe shouted, running to me.
“Hey, kiddo,” I said, hugging her. She smelled like syrup and shampoo.
Tyler looked up from beside the tree, trying to act older than he was. Melissa stood by the tree, arms crossed.
“So,” she said, scanning behind me like I might be hiding a drone under my jacket.
Before I could answer, a truck pulled up outside. A big white truck with a company logo on the side.