I thought that coming home after years abroad would be a joyful reunion—laughter, tight hugs, maybe even a few tears of happiness. I was excited to see my family, and I arrived at the perfect time—during our family gathering. But the moment I stepped through the door, the room fell into an eerie silence.
It wasn’t the good kind of silence. Not the “Oh my god, it’s you!” kind. No, this was different.
“Uh… surprise?” I said, forcing a smile.
My mom’s smile was quick and forced. She rushed over to hug me, almost as if reminding herself how to do it. “You should’ve called first.”
“Thought I’d surprise you,” I replied, trying to ease the tension.
“Yeah,” my dad muttered, scratching the back of his neck. “Some surprises are… unexpected.”
I frowned. That was an odd thing to say.
I scanned the room, expecting excitement—maybe someone would pull out a phone to capture the reunion for social media. Instead, my aunts and uncles avoided my gaze. My dad stole a quick glance at his phone before stepping away, and my mom squeezed my arm a little too tightly.
