Chapter 2 - The Empty House

The contrast between my peaceful coastal cottage and the situation unfolding back in the city was monumental.

By Christmas Eve afternoon, Becca’s large, pristine suburban home looked like a war zone. When they couldn't get into my house, Garrick and Chloe had been forced to follow Becca and Mark back to their place. Their grand vacation plans were canceled. The non-refundable deposits were lost. And now, four adults and eight children were crammed under one roof, with absolutely no plan for the holiday.

The stress in the house was palpable, vibrating through the walls like a physical force.

“I burned it!” Becca wailed, pulling a charred, smoking ham out of the oven. Smoke billowed into the kitchen, setting off the fire alarm. The shrill, piercing beep echoed through the house, causing the three-year-old twins to burst into hysterical tears.

“Open a window!” Mark shouted, frantically waving a dish towel at the smoke detector while holding a screaming toddler on his hip. “Becca, how do you burn a pre-cooked ham? You literally just have to heat it up!”

“I don’t know!” Becca cried, slamming the roasting pan onto the counter. Her hair was a messy, unkempt knot. Her designer clothes were stained with flour and grease. She hadn't slept for more than three hours. “Mom always did the meat! I’ve never cooked a holiday dinner in my life!”

In the living room, Garrick was trying, and failing, to assemble a massive plastic dollhouse he had bought for his youngest daughter. He was missing three screws, the instructions were in French, and the children were running in circles around him, screaming and fighting over the television remote.

“Chloe!” Garrick yelled over the noise, rubbing his temples in sheer agony. “Can you please get them to calm down? I can’t focus!”

“I am trying to wrap the presents you forgot to wrap last night!” Chloe snapped back from the dining room table, surrounded by a chaotic mess of torn paper and tangled ribbons. “Do you have any idea how much work this is? We have to wrap twenty gifts, make side dishes, and keep these kids entertained!”

The absolute, crushing weight of the holiday had fallen squarely onto their shoulders, and they were buckling under the pressure.

That night, Christmas Eve dinner consisted of the salvaged, dry center of the burned ham, a box of instant mashed potatoes that Garrick had made too watery, and canned green beans. The children complained loudly. The adults sat in exhausted, miserable silence.

After dinner, there was no magical family photo by the tree. There was no cheerful music. Becca stood at the kitchen sink, staring at a massive, towering pile of dirty dishes, greasy pans, and sticky plates.

Her back ached. Her feet throbbed. She was so tired she felt like she might pass out right there on the tile floor.

She picked up a sponge and began scrubbing a pan. As she scrubbed, a memory flashed unbidden into her mind.

It was last Christmas. Becca remembered walking into her mother’s kitchen at 11:30 PM to grab a glass of water. Her mother—*I*—had been standing at the exact same sink, washing a pile of dishes twice as large as this one.

Becca remembered what she had said that night. “You missed the movie we watched, Mom. You should really manage your time better.”

A hot, stinging wave of shame rushed over Becca. She dropped the sponge into the soapy water. The sheer arrogance of her past behavior hit her with the force of a physical blow. She had never managed the time. She had never cooked the food. She had never cleaned the mess. She had just showed up, taken the credit, and left the exhaustion to the woman who had given her everything.

Becca leaned over the sink, covered her face with her soap-covered hands, and began to sob.

Garrick walked into the kitchen, holding a trash bag full of wrapping paper. He saw his sister crying, and for once, he didn't make a sarcastic remark. He dropped the bag, walked over, and leaned against the counter beside her.

“She did this every single year,” Garrick said quietly, staring at the mountain of dishes. His voice was thick with guilt. “For twenty years, Becca. She did all of this. For us. And we didn’t even say thank you.”

Becca wiped her eyes, leaving a streak of suds across her cheek. “We treated her like the help, Garrick. I overheard myself talking about her to my friends. I sounded… I sounded like a monster.”