On New Year’s Eve, mom gave presents to every grandchild except mine, so I quietly left and said never to invite us again—then at 6:00 a.m. on January 1, my family’s “new year’s gift” arrived at their door.

My phone rang again.

This time the screen showed Dad.

I almost ignored it.

Then Evelyn said quietly, “You may want to hear what he has to say.”

I answered but did not speak first.

For several seconds, there was only breathing.

Then my father said, “Julia.”

He sounded older than he had the night before.

“What do you need, Dad?”

“I didn’t know about the gifts.”

I closed my eyes.

That was not an apology.

It was a distance marker.

A way of standing near the fire without admitting he had helped gather wood.

“You knew enough,” I said.

He inhaled sharply.

Behind him, I heard my mother’s voice, muffled and angry. Then Brent’s.

Dad lowered his voice. “Your brother says this is illegal.”

“Then he can call my attorney.”

“He says you tricked us.”

“No. I stopped letting you trick me.”

Silence.

Then he said, “Your mother is upset.”