My sister called my son a “mistake” at every family gathering for five years. At Christmas, when she started her insults again, I smiled and asked her husband, “So, has Holly told you about the millions she lost at work, or is she still too busy liking your assistant’s bikini photos?” What happened next was the best gift I ever received.

For five years, I lived in the shadow of a lie. It was a beautiful lie, polished to a high sheen by my family’s desperate need for appearances, a lie that said we were a cohesive unit, bound by love and mutual respect. But beneath the surface, there was a rot, and its name was Holly.