onLeave a Comment on Every year, my husband and his family blamed me for “ruining” Christmas. This year, I finally stopped showing up—and stopped paying for the celebration they expected me to cover. By 6:30 p.m., my phone started ringing over and over. The same people who said I spoiled the holiday were suddenly desperate to know where I was and why nothing was going according to plan. 
Neil chuckled.
Not because he was mocking me.
Because he genuinely thought I was joking.
“Sure.”
“I’m serious.”
He glanced at me.
“Okay.”
“I mean it.”
“You’re tired.”
“I heard you and Ryan.”
His hands tightened slightly on the steering wheel.
“What?”
“In the garage.”
Silence.
I continued.
“You said I’d complain for two days and then book the house.”
