Chapter 5 - The Cost of Peace
For the next few hours, the strange Tideway document sat naggingly in the back of my mind, but my primary focus remained entirely on my children. We needed to heal the emotional wound inflicted by the women who were supposed to love them best.
We stopped at a local grocery store on the way back. Theo solemnly chose a massive box of frozen mozzarella sticks, while Norah opted for two boxes of deluxe macaroni and cheese. I grabbed a hot rotisserie chicken from the deli warmer because I stubbornly felt we still needed at least one item on our makeshift Thanksgiving table that had once possessed feathers.
Back home, we immediately stripped off our stiff dress clothes, changed into cozy sweatpants and oversized hoodies, and set up a giant blanket fort right in the middle of the living room floor. And yes, we actually used Paige’s insulting $40 Domino’s gift card. That little piece of plastic bought us one large pepperoni pizza, an order of cheesy garlic bread, and most of the delivery tip. There is something profoundly therapeutic about discovering that inflation has thoroughly weakened your sister's weaponized insult.
We ate our junk food on the living room rug while watching old animated movies. Around mid-afternoon, Theo looked over at me with a quiet, serious expression that broke my heart.
"Mom, did we actually do something wrong last year?" he asked softly.
"No, buddy. Absolutely not."
"Were we too loud during dinner?"
"Sometimes you get excited, Theo, which is completely normal."
He looked down at his paper plate, picking at a crust of pizza. "So that’s why Aunt Paige didn’t want us to come today."
"No, Theo. Listen to me very carefully," I said, taking his small hands in mine. "Aunt Paige made a very rude, selfish decision because she wanted her party to look a certain way for strangers. That was her choice. It is never, ever your job to shrink yourself or hide who you are just so adults can have prettier holidays."
Norah stayed uncharacteristically quiet for a long moment, rolling a piece of garlic bread between her fingers. Then she looked up. "Grandma agreed with her."
That fact hurt far worse than anything Paige had said.
"Yeah, she did," I admitted quietly.
"Does Grandma not love us anymore?"
"Grandma loves you very much in her own way, Norah."
"Then why did she tell us not to come?"
I couldn't manufacture a comforting fairytale that would magically make adult behavior look noble or kind. So I chose to give my daughter the unvarnished, grounded truth.
"Sometimes, people can love you and still make deeply selfish, cowardly choices," I told her gently. "That’s on them, not on you."
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By 8:30 PM, both children were sound asleep upstairs. Theo was curled up with a stack of adventure books, and Norah had drifted off wearing an oversized pajama top and exactly one fluffy pink sock.
I quietly cleaned up the kitchen, wiping down the counters and loading the dishwasher. Then, I walked into my home office, opened my laptop, and went to work.
