Reluctantly, Megan agreed, and when my family arrived, I told them I had prepared everything, including using my mom’s recipe for the chicken. As expected, they loved it. Angela praised the pasta, and my parents raved about how delicious the meal was.
But I couldn’t keep the charade going. I confessed, “Actually, Megan made the whole dinner, just like she has been for months.”
The room went silent. My mom and Angela tried to backtrack, suggesting that maybe Megan had improved, but it was clear what had happened. Their criticism had never been about the food—it was personal.
That night, I apologized to Megan for all the hurt she’d endured. I was done with the monthly dinners. If all my family wanted to do was criticize and belittle her, we wouldn’t be participating anymore. Megan deserved better than that.
When we stopped attending, my family noticed and started asking questions. I told them the truth: we weren’t coming back because they had been unfair to Megan. During a heated phone call, my mom accused me of choosing Megan over the family, but I didn’t waver.
Later, my younger sister, Gloria, confirmed what I had feared all along. “Mom and Angela never really liked Megan,” she admitted. “They felt she wasn’t ‘family enough.’”
That sealed it for me. I knew I had made the right choice by standing by Megan. Together, we started creating our own family traditions—ones built on love, respect, and kindness. Every meal felt like home, no matter who cooked it.
Did I make the right choice?