My mother boycotted my wedding because I was marrying a hospital security guard and convinced sixty-seven relatives to leave every seat on my side empty.

My phone rang while Nathan and I were making tacos in our small kitchen. It wasn't my mother this time. It was my brother, David.

"Mel," David’s voice sounded frantic, stripped of all the frat-boy arrogance he usually wore like body armor. "You have to come home. Dad is... he’s packing boxes in the study. Mom hasn't left her bedroom since yesterday afternoon. The country club sent a letter revoking our family membership permanently."

I leaned against the refrigerator, holding a wooden spoon. "David, I’m married now. My home is here."

"You don't understand," he pleaded, his voice cracking. "They’re talking about selling the house. They can't face anyone in the neighborhood anymore. Every time someone walks past, they point at our windows. If you just come over and take a photo with us—just one picture saying it was all a social media exaggeration—they can salvage something."

"A photo?" I asked, my voice dropping into a dangerous, cold register. "You want me to lie to the public so Dad doesn't have to face the consequences of treating people like garbage?"

"It’s not about garbage, Mel! It’s about family!"

"No, David," I said sharply. "When I stood at the end of that aisle with sixty-eight empty chairs on my side, that was about family. When you ignored every text I sent for a month because you were embarrassed by my husband’s job, that was about family. You made your choice. Live with it."

I hung up the phone and slipped it into the kitchen drawer, turning it off completely.