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This year marked the seventh year of my marriage to Nathan Carter. Once again, he chose his foster sister, Summer Ryan, over spending Christmas with me at home. "Be good," he said. "If I bring you along, Summer will throw a fit. It's Christmas. No one wants things to turn ugly because of you, right?" He doted on Summer endlessly. She had hated me for seven years. And for seven years, he had chosen her over me. But he forgot one thing: seven years ago, I had cut ties with my own family to marry him. I let out a quiet hum and handed him the gift boxes I'd prepared. After he left, I set the drafted divorce papers on the coffee table. I'd already packed all my things. I walked out the door. This time, I was taking back my name.