Pets n Story

It had been ten years since we were all in the same room.

Ten whole years of missed birthdays, awkward group texts, and “we should really get together sometime” promises that never stuck. But somehow, for Aunt Lorna’s 80th, we pulled it off. Everyone flew in. Even Bruce, who swore he’d never come back after that Thanksgiving argument in 2009.

We smiled for the photo. Cake in front. Arms around shoulders. A perfect snapshot—on the surface.

But I could feel the tension like humidity.

Glen kept glancing at the clock. Sharon didn’t even try to hide her eye rolls when Donna talked. And Mom? Mom kept gripping the chair like she was holding something in.

Then Aunt Lorna stood up, raising her glass to make a toast, her voice wavering slightly. “To family, to memories, and to another year of being together,” she said with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

There was a collective murmur of agreement, but I could see it—every little thing that wasn’t said, every person trying to play their part. Bruce shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and even Aunt Lorna, usually the heart of every gathering, seemed to falter just for a moment before continuing.

I should’ve known things would unravel when we sat down to dinner. The food was spectacular—turkey, mashed potatoes, the works—but it didn’t feel like the warm, joyful family meals of the past. It felt more like an obligatory event, a performance where everyone was playing their part, trying their best to look like we were the perfect family.

We made small talk, and I could feel the conversations dancing around the edges of things we couldn’t talk about—unspoken issues, past grudges, and secrets no one had the courage to address. But then, the moment came.

It started with a simple comment from Glen.

“You really think you should be eating that much, Sharon?” His voice was low, but sharp enough to make her flinch.

Sharon blinked, clearly caught off guard, her fork hovering above her plate. “What are you talking about?”

“I just don’t think you need to be eating all that, is all,” Glen said, his eyes shifting nervously as he realized everyone was listening.

“You don’t get to tell me what I can or can’t eat, Glen,” Sharon shot back, her voice suddenly louder than it had been all night.

I looked around the table. This wasn’t the first time I’d seen them argue—Glen had a way of putting Sharon down that always seemed to go unnoticed by everyone else—but tonight, it felt different. Everyone was tense, as if the air was thick with unspoken frustration.

Before anyone could respond, Donna, who had been quietly sitting at the edge of the table, piped up. “Glen, why don’t you just let Sharon eat what she wants? You’ve been like this for years. No one wants to hear it.”

That was when things really started to go south.

Glen’s face turned a deep shade of red. “What’s that supposed to mean, Donna? I’m just trying to look out for her. She’s the one who needs to get it together.”

“You don’t get it, do you?” Donna’s voice cracked, and her eyes filled with frustration. “You’ve always tried to control everything, and now you’re trying to control her. It’s not about food. It’s about everything.”

There was a long pause. A heavy, uncomfortable silence where nobody spoke. I could feel my heart racing. This wasn’t just about food anymore. This was about old wounds being reopened, the things we never talked about coming to the surface.

“I’m just trying to help,” Glen muttered, his voice quieter now but still filled with that same defensive tone.

Aunt Lorna, who had been watching this unfold, cleared her throat, attempting to steer the conversation away. “Now, now, everyone. Let’s just—”

But Sharon wasn’t done. “You know what? Maybe it’s not just about food. Maybe it’s about everything you’ve said behind my back, the way you’ve made me feel like I’m not good enough. You always act like you’re perfect, but I’ve seen you—”

Before she could finish, the door to the kitchen opened, and in walked my mom. She was pale, her hands gripping the doorframe like she was holding herself together.

“What is going on in here?” she asked, her voice tight. “Why are you all yelling?”

We all turned to look at her, and for a moment, there was a strange, eerie quiet. I knew that my mom, despite always being the peacemaker, had her own reasons for avoiding conflict. The truth about this family—about what had really happened in the years before—had always been left unspoken. But now, the truth was on the edge of exploding.

“I’m just tired of it, Mom,” Sharon said, her voice trembling. “I’m tired of pretending everything is fine when it’s not. I’m tired of being the punching bag, and I’m tired of Glen acting like he’s the only one who cares.”

I looked at my mom. She wasn’t saying anything. She was just standing there, watching the scene unfold. But then something inside me shifted.

“Mom,” I said quietly, my voice catching in my throat. “What’s really going on? Why are we all so… broken? Why has it always felt like there’s something we can’t talk about?”

The question hung in the air, and for a moment, my mom didn’t answer. She closed her eyes, and I could see the years of silence, the years of hiding things she never wanted to confront.

Finally, she spoke. “It’s time you knew. You all deserve to know the truth.”

I was shocked by the weight of her words. “The truth about what?”

“About your father,” she said softly, her voice trembling. “About why we fell apart all those years ago. About the reason Glen and Sharon have been at each other’s throats for so long.”

I felt a chill run down my spine. My father had left when I was a child, but I had always believed that it was a simple matter of incompatibility, of two people who couldn’t make it work. But now, it was clear there was so much more.

“It wasn’t just that he left,” my mom continued, her eyes welling up with tears. “He cheated. He lied. And he hurt all of us. But what’s worse is that I kept the secret from you, hoping it would just go away. I kept it from you, and I kept it from him.”

The room fell silent again, but this time, it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was heavy with revelation, with the weight of the truth finally coming to light.

“Your father had an affair,” my mom continued, her voice barely a whisper. “And it tore everything apart. I should have told you. I should have made things right, but I was afraid. Afraid of losing what little was left of our family.”

Suddenly, everything made sense. The tension between Glen and Sharon. The silent treatment between Mom and the rest of the family. The guilt that had lingered for years in every corner of the house. It wasn’t just about old arguments. It was about betrayal—about something that had festered for far too long.

But then, the twist came.

Aunt Lorna, who had been sitting quietly, watching all of this unfold, suddenly stood up. Her face was pale, but there was something calm in her eyes. “There’s more, isn’t there?” she said, her voice steady.

My mom nodded. “Yes.”

Aunt Lorna turned to face us, and for the first time in a long while, I saw the woman who had been the glue of this family. She had known. She had always known the truth.

And she had never said a word.

“I was the one who helped him,” Aunt Lorna admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I helped your father hide it. I was part of the lie.”

The room went cold. All the anger, all the pain, all the unspoken hurt suddenly had a name. And it was sitting at the table with us.

But instead of anger, instead of betrayal, something else washed over me. Relief. For the first time, it felt like we were finally being honest with each other.

We had all been holding onto the past for so long. We had been punishing each other for mistakes none of us could fix, carrying guilt that didn’t belong to us. But in that moment, I realized the real lesson: sometimes, the only way to heal is to confront the truth, no matter how painful it is.

And in that moment, we began to forgive—not just each other, but ourselves.

So, the next time you find yourself caught in family drama or in a situation where things don’t make sense, remember this: the truth has a way of coming out, and while it might hurt at first, it’s the only path to healing. Share this with someone who might need to hear it. We all deserve to let go of the weight we’ve been carrying.