In my previous life, Diana used a "heart-to-heart" to trick me into a room, locking me away for nearly an hour. When I emerged, I only saw children throwing snowballs at a snowman—unaware my son had already stopped breathing inside that red suit.

I violently shook off her hand and marched toward the mascot.

I didn't make it two steps. Aunt Brenda and two other relatives swarmed me, forming a human wall.

"Oh my, what's wrong with you?" Brenda's massive frame blocked my path, her face beaming with fake warmth. "Diana just wants to talk. Why act like this?"

"It's rare for the whole family to be together," Cousin Linda chimed in, grabbing my arm in a vice grip. "Come inside. It's freezing."

They pushed me toward the house, their collective weight a barrier. I struggled, twisted, but against three women, I was helpless.

I wrenched my head back. The children had already surrounded the mascot.

"Ride the horse! Ride the horse!"

Diana's son shouted the command. A pack of boys rushed forward, shoving the clumsy figure down into the snow, scrambling on top.

One, two, three—they piled on, a mountain of heavy coats and cruelty.

The mascot thrashed beneath them, struggling futilely. The weight was too great. It couldn't rise.

"Stop!"

I screamed, shoving Brenda aside with every ounce of adrenaline.

"Stop playing! Get off! You'll hurt him!"

I lunged forward, but Derek stepped into my path, catching me. His expression flickered with annoyance.

"The kids are just messing around. What are you making a fuss about?"

"It's New Year's," Margaret Lawson added, walking over with a deep frown. "Don't ruin the mood."

"Let Ethan play. He needs to bond with his cousins if he's ever going to fit into this family. It's for his own good."

"You protect him too much. How will he ever get along with his siblings if you coddle him like this?"

"That's not—"

I tried to explain that the child in the suit wasn't my son, but my protests were cut short. My two sisters-in-law flanked me, "supporting" me by the arms. Their smiles were plastered on, polite and strained, but their grip was iron. They dug their fingers into my flesh, dragging me back into the house and shoving me onto the living room sofa.

"Just rest for a bit, Sister-in-law. You're too worked up."

My chest heaved. I wasn't winded from exertion—I was suffocating from terror.