I’d always wanted a dreamy Christmas, and this year was it—my first with Liam’s family as his fiancée. I was ready to dive in, not seeing the heartbreak ahead. His family had their own vibe—private giggles I couldn’t crack—but I figured I’d fit eventually. We met at a coffee shop last spring, his goofy charm hooking me while I stuck to my shy latte order.
He shook up my routine, I grounded his wildness, and seven months back, he hid a ring in a fortune cookie—Liam to a T. I said yes, teary and thrilled, blind to the twist coming. Pre-Christmas, I wrapped gifts with love—a fancy scarf for Paula, a slick watch for his dad, a gaming rig for Stephan, a jacket for Liam. My family’s gift game is strong—Mom’s albums and Sarah’s jewelry hit deep last year. “These are winners,” I told Sarah, flashing the scarf. “Big moves!” she grinned.
I rolled up to their stunning Victorian on Christmas Eve, snow twinkling, heart racing. But their hello was cold—Paula’s smile was tight, Stephan scrolled his phone, and his dad barely looked up. Liam called my entrance, but their mumbles didn’t match. Christmas Day tanked—Paula redid my kitchen help, their game quips—“Dad’s fried beans!”—left me out, and their movie game baffled me.
“You’ll catch up,” Liam promised, but I wasn’t so sure. Then gifts—eighteen for me. I opened one—coal. Another—coal. All coal, as they roared. “Family tradition!” Paula hooted. I fled, mad, and Liam shrugged, “It’s a laugh—our love language.” Love? I told them this wasn’t funny and bailed. That night, Liam said their power cut out, ruining everything. “Karma,” I replied. He flipped, but I called off the engagement—no room for their cruelty. I gave the gift cash to a shelter, feeling calm and strong, free from their coal-hearted ways.
