like she’s freeing you.
Her name is Margaret, but to everyone else, she’s the woman who makes Christmas magical. Perfect tree, perfect food, perfect family photos. They praise her every year.
They never see the group chats I manage, the spreadsheets I make, the last-minute store runs when she forgets basics like napkins or gifts for certain relatives. They don’t see me scrubbing pans at midnight while she accepts praise like a queen receiving flowers after a show.
My brother Ryan just jokes that I’m good at this stuff. Easy
