My heart swelled, brimming with pride, as I finally announced my plan.
“I’m going to sew Emma’s graduation dress,” I beamed, looking at my little sister’s excited face.
Then, my mother, Karen, scoffed, “Why bother, Natalie? It’s easier just to buy one.”
The air thickened, suffocating my excitement.
Emma, only five, looked confused, her bright eyes flicking between Mom and me.
“But Natalie’s dresses are magical, Momma!” Emma protested, her voice small.
Karen just waved her hand dismissively.
It was always like this.
Any spark of creativity I showed, especially anything handmade, Mom would immediately extinguish.
I wanted this to be special.
For Emma.
But also, for me.
I, Natalie Grace Thompson, 32, a freelance graphic designer, had put my own dreams on hold for years.
First, it was to help care for Emma.
Then, it was for our aging parents.
My career felt stagnant.
My personal life was a wasteland.
This dress, this project, felt like a lifeline.
It felt like a chance to create something real, something beautiful.
Something *mine*.
Later that evening, in my quiet apartment, I pulled out my old sewing box.
It was heavier than I remembered, filled with scraps of fabric and forgotten dreams.
My fingers traced a piece of calico from a doll dress I’d made when I was Emma’s age.
A wave of nostalgia washed over me.
I saw flashes of my younger self, painstakingly stitching, lost in the joy of creation.
Why had I ever stopped?
Why had I let Mom’s dismissiveness chisel away at my confidence?
I felt a fierce resolve ignite within me.
I would make this dress.
Not just any dress.
*The* dress.
Despite the self-doubt that gnawed at me like a persistent little mouse, I would do it.
My sewing skills were rusty, sure.
And I probably was overextending myself.
But Emma deserved a magical dress.
And I deserved to feel that spark again.
I decided to call Emma first thing in the morning.
The next day, Emma’s excitement was palpable.
She bounced on her tiptoes, clapping her hands.
“A princess dress? With sparkles?” she squealed.
Her pure joy was the antidote to Mom’s negativity.
It made all the difference.
Later, at Sunday dinner, I tried again to bring up the dress.
Karen, predictably, remained unconvinced.
“A graduation dress needs to be perfect, Natalie. Not… homemade.” Her tone was laced with condescension.
My father, Robert, cleared his throat.
“Karen, Natalie always had a talent for design. Remember that quilt she made in high school?” he said, a gentle, knowing look in his eyes.
He was a retired school principal, always believing in hard work and family loyalty.
His support was a small balm to my wounded pride.
But Karen just pursed her lips.
“A quilt is one thing, Robert. A formal dress for a ceremony is quite another.”
The tension was thick enough to cut with a dull pair of scissors.
I felt that familiar sting of being belittled, of being lesser.
It was a feeling I’d carried since childhood, always overshadowed by Emma’s easy charm and our parents’ doting attention on her.
This moment solidified it.
This dress wasn’t just about Emma.
It was a quiet rebellion.
A statement.
A few days later, Emma and I went to the fabric store.
It was a wonderland of colors and textures.
Emma’s imagination ran wild.
“Can it have a big puffy skirt? And tiny butterflies? And maybe a tail like a mermaid?” she asked, her eyes wide with possibility.
I laughed, trying to rein in her whimsical suggestions.
“Let’s stick to one or two magical elements, sweetie. It’s for graduation, not a costume party,” I gently explained.
We bickered playfully over satin versus tulle, sparkles versus delicate lace.
It was pure, unadulterated sister time.
A precious reprieve from the usual family tension.
As we walked past the patterned fabrics, Emma suddenly pointed.
“Look, Natalie! That fabric is like the one in Momma’s special box. The one she said made her sad.”
My blood ran cold.
“What special box, Emma?” I asked, trying to keep my voice even.
Emma shrugged, oblivious.
“Just a box in the attic. She was talking to Daddy about it one time. She said something like, ‘This fabric reminds me of how everything fell apart.’”
I forced a smile.
“Oh, that’s just Momma being dramatic, honey. Grown-ups say silly things sometimes.”
But inside, a knot of unease tightened.
*What fell apart?*
*What was in that box?*
*What exactly did Emma overhear?*
Our connection, born of laughter and creativity, now had a new, unsettling undercurrent.
Underlying conflicts, I realized, lurked everywhere in our family.
That evening, the quiet hum of my sewing machine filled my apartment.
I carefully cut the pattern, the fabric whispering through my hands.
But my mind drifted, replaying Emma’s words.
And then, Karen’s dismissive voice echoed in my head.
“Not homemade.”
A wave of frustration washed over me.
My hands faltered.
I felt the familiar pang of self-doubt.
Was I truly good enough?
I remembered childhood art projects, proudly presented, only to be met with a lukewarm response from Mom, while Emma’s simplest crayon drawing received effusive praise.
It was a deep, old wound.
I felt overshadowed, always.
Always second-best in Mom’s eyes.
Frustration morphed into sorrow.
My needle slipped, making a jagged tear in the delicate satin.
“Blast it!” I muttered, throwing the fabric down.
The mistake felt symbolic, a reflection of my deeper struggles, my unresolved feelings of inadequacy.
I knew I had to fix it.
Just like I had to fix so much else.
After a deep breath, I carefully stitched the tear, camouflaging it with a small, embroidered floral patch.
It wasn’t perfect, but it was unique.
It was *me*.
A tiny victory.
When I finally held up the partially finished bodice, a burst of excitement replaced the frustration.
It was taking shape.
It was beautiful.
I picked up my phone and called Emma, eager to share my progress.
“Can you meet me at the playground tomorrow, sweetie? I have a surprise.”
The next afternoon, Emma’s face lit up when I pulled the dress out of the garment bag.
“It’s beautiful, Natalie! So sparkly!” she gasped, twirling around in imaginary joy.
Her unbridled enthusiasm was exactly what I needed.
“Do you think Momma will like it?” Emma asked, her voice suddenly small, a shadow crossing her face.
My heart sank a little.
Even Emma, so young, sensed Karen’s disapproval.
“Momma will love it,” I said, trying to sound confident. “She’ll see how special it is because you helped choose the fabric.”
Emma nodded slowly.
“I heard Momma talking again, Natalie,” she whispered, leaning closer. “She was talking to Grandma on the phone. She said, ‘I can’t believe Natalie is still so… naive about how things work in this family.’”
My stomach dropped.
Naive? About what?
My mixed feelings about family secrets turned to a cold dread.
“Emma, sweetie, sometimes Momma worries a lot,” I tried to explain, though my voice felt strained.
Our bond deepened in that moment, but the mysterious tension within our home became even more pronounced.
The questions piled up, unspoken.
*What was Mom hiding?*
*What was I so naive about?*
The following family dinner was, as expected, a battleground.
I brought up the dress, hoping to gauge their reactions before the graduation.
Karen, true to form, immediately downplayed my work.
“It’s… quaint, Natalie,” she said, her voice dripping with false praise. “But for a kindergarten graduation, don’t you think something a bit more… elegant would be better? We can still buy something.”
Robert, bless him, stepped in.
“I think it’s charming, Natalie. And Emma adores it.”
Karen shot him a look.
“We want Emma to make a good impression, Robert. This isn’t just about Emma, it’s about *our family’s* standing.”
My insecurities surged.
Mom’s disappointment in me was a palpable weight in the room.
It was a familiar feeling, one that always drove a wedge between us.
The divide widened, creating a silent chasm between mother and daughter.
That night, feeling utterly defeated, I sought out my father in the living room.
He was reading the newspaper, a half-empty cup of tea beside him.
“Dad, why is Mom always like this?” I asked, my voice raw with frustration. “Why can’t she just be proud of me?”
Robert sighed, folding his paper.
He looked tired.
He was always caught in the middle of Karen’s controlling nature and our desires for independence.
“Your mother… she has her own way of seeing things, Natalie,” he said, his voice quiet. “She wants what’s best, in her mind.”
“But she dismisses everything I do! It makes me feel like I’m never enough.”
He admitted, with a heavy heart, how much Karen’s controlling nature weighed on him too.
He confessed to fearing her disapproval himself.
“She’s always been that way, Natalie. It comes from somewhere deep inside her own past.”
His words provided some understanding, but also fueled my feelings of abandonment.
Even Dad was held captive by her.
It was a turning point.
I realized I couldn’t seek her approval anymore.
I had to do this for myself.
For Emma.
The next day, a fierce resolve burned within me.
I would make the dress mine.
And Emma’s.
I called her over, armed with sequins, beads, and fabric paint.
“Okay, Emma,” I said, spreading the treasures across my table. “This is where the real magic happens. What do you want to add?”
Emma’s eyes sparkled.
“Glitter butterflies! And little shiny stars!”
Her suggestions, though sometimes clashing with my artistic vision, were full of childlike wonder.
We bickered good-naturedly, a comfortable rhythm settling between us.
We even started making up silly songs about our crafting adventures.
“Glitter, glitter everywhere! On the dress and in my hair!” Emma sang, giggling as she shook a bottle of iridescent dust.
Amidst our playful arguments, Emma mentioned her school art teacher, Mrs. Gable.
“Mrs. Gable said my drawings are super-duper creative, just like yours, Natalie!”
It was a small thing, but it showed Emma already had other support for her creativity outside our family.
It felt good.
The laughter flowed, reducing the tension that always seemed to hover around our family.
Our creative collaboration forged a deeper joy, strengthening our sisterly bond.
The dress became a canvas for our shared happiness.
It truly was a sense of accomplishment, drawing us closer together.
As the graduation approached, we visited our childhood home.
Karen, of course, was already stressing about traditions.
“For these ceremonies, we always wear something elegant. It’s a family expectation,” she announced, looking pointedly at me.
“It’s kindergarten, Mom,” I sighed. “It’s supposed to be fun.”
As we sifted through old family albums, a nostalgic haze filled the air.
I found a picture of my own kindergarten graduation.
I was wearing a stiff, store-bought white dress, my smile a little forced.
A familiar pang of inadequacy hit me.
I remembered feeling uncomfortable, wishing I could be wearing something more fun.
The old photograph also revealed a subtle twist.
In the background of my graduation photo, Mom was wearing a beautiful floral dress, but her face was strained, her smile not reaching her eyes. She was standing a little apart from Dad.
*Twist 1: Setup – While going through family albums, Natalie uncovers a photograph depicting a family reunion featuring her mother in an unfamiliar state.*
*Reveal: Karen confesses this moment represents a time she and Robert were separated briefly due to personal issues.*
*Why it matters: The family dynamics are revealed to have deeper scars than initially believed.*
*Emotional fallout: Natalie realizes that they are not alone in their struggles, reshaping her perspective on family.*
“Mom,” I asked, pointing to the photo. “You look… sad here. And you and Dad are separate.”
Karen stiffened.
She hesitated, then sighed, a rare vulnerability crossing her face.
“Your father and I… we had a very difficult time back then, Natalie. We were separated for a few months.”
My jaw dropped.
Separated? I had no idea.
“Personal issues,” she continued, her voice tight. “A lot of stress. Financial, mostly. We kept it quiet to protect you girls.”
The family dynamics, I realized, had deeper, unacknowledged scars than I ever imagined.
This secret, hidden for decades, made me see my parents, especially Mom, in a new light.
We weren’t alone in our struggles.
This moment was a quiet, shocking revelation.
It reshaped my entire perspective on our family’s history.
The air in the room became heavy with unspoken emotions.
Emma, sensing the shift, innocently piped up, “My dress makes me happy! It’s sparkly and it has my stars!”
Her simple joy cut through the complex emotions.
It was a reminder of what truly mattered.
Later, around the dining table, a family meeting commenced to finalize graduation plans.
Karen, still reeling from her confession, tried to assert control again.
She pushed for a large, elaborate event, insisting it was tradition.
“We need to invite everyone. It’s a milestone. This reflects on our family.”
I argued for simplicity, for a smaller, more intimate celebration.
“It’s kindergarten, Mom. Emma just wants to celebrate with close family and her friends.”
Karen’s face hardened.
“My own graduation was a grand affair,” she stated, her voice tight. “It was important for our family’s standing.”
She revealed a previous strong sentiment about her own graduation, linking it back to family perceptions.
“My parents made sure everyone knew we were a family of achievement.”
The past, her past, was clearly influencing her present.
Tensions rose as we rehashed old family dynamics, our differing viewpoints clashing.
I felt increasingly isolated as Karen subtly belittled my ideas, making me feel like my feelings didn’t matter.
The conflict, though painful, fueled my resolve.
I poured all my efforts into completing the dress, determined to make it a symbol of joy and individuality, not rigid tradition.
On my patio, Emma and I carefully layered the last decorations onto the dress.
I struggled to balance my ideal design with Emma’s boundless desires for more glitter and more butterflies.
It brought back personal childhood regrets, times I stifled my own wants to please Mom.
I felt myself unconsciously repeating patterns of family conflict.
“Emma, maybe just one more butterfly, okay? It’s getting a little crowded.” My voice was sharper than I intended.
Emma’s lower lip trembled.
My frustration peaked.
I felt a climactic breakdown bubbling up inside me.
“I just want this to be perfect for you, Emma,” I blurted out, my eyes welling up. “I just… I don’t want to be a failure.”
My deepest fear, laid bare.
It opened a new dialogue, a moment of raw vulnerability with Emma.
Emma, sensing my distress, gently patted my hand.
“You’re not a failure, Natalie. You’re the best big sister ever. And this dress is perfect.”
Her innocence, her pure love, was a balm.
It was a cathartic moment, creating a new level of understanding between us.
It was more than just a dress; it was a symbol of our evolving bond.
The day before graduation, it was time for the final fitting at the Thompson family home.
Karen hovered, her lips pressed into a thin line.
Emma twirled in the finished dress, a vision of childlike joy, the glitter catching the sunlight.
“It’s beautiful,” Robert said, genuinely impressed.
Karen, however, remained critical.
“The hem is a little uneven, Natalie. And perhaps a bit too much sparkle. It’s not quite… refined.”
My patience snapped.
*Confrontation 1: Participants: Natalie, Karen. Trigger: Natalie presents the dress; Karen critiques it. Escalation: A calm discussion becomes heated when Natalie feels dismissive of her efforts. Outcome: Natalie storms away, feeling unheard and unappreciated, leaving tension unresolved.*
“Refined?” I shot back, my voice trembling with suppressed anger. “Mom, I’ve spent months on this! I poured my heart into it. And for years, you’ve belittled everything I do!”
Raw emotions surfaced.
Karen flinched, her face paling.
“That’s not fair, Natalie. I only want what’s best.”
“No, you want me to be a reflection of *your* expectations! You want to control everything!”
The anger transformed into tears.
“I’ve felt belittled my entire life, Mom. Like I was never good enough.”
Karen stood stunned.
Her initial defensiveness crumbled, replaced by a painful realization.
The silence was deafening.
Emma, sensing the intensity, looked tearful herself.
Karen slowly reached out, touching the sleeve of the dress.
“Natalie… I… I didn’t realize,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
It was a transformative moment.
The confrontation, though painful, allowed her to become more open-hearted.
We sat down, exhausted, but a new understanding dawned between us.
We agreed to try and move forward together.
It was a fragile truce, but it was a start.
The afternoon barbecue for Emma’s upcoming graduation was supposed to be a joyous occasion.
But then, the uninvited guests arrived.
*Twist 3: Setup – A family friend calls Karen to discuss upcoming plans for Emma’s graduation. Reveal: It inadvertently brings up a family feud that occurred years ago, involving Natalie. Why it matters: Illustrates how long-standing tensions continue to affect family members. Emotional fallout: Natalie is hurt to learn that her mother never disclosed this to her, impacting her sense of trust.*
Our distant cousins, the Millers, showed up.
They were known for stirring the pot.
Mrs. Miller, a friend of Karen’s, cornered her near the grill.
I overheard snippets of their conversation.
“Karen, remember that dreadful business with Natalie and the Smith family, years ago? Such an embarrassment.”
My stomach churned.
The Smith family? What were they talking about?
Karen shot Mrs. Miller a warning look, but it was too late.
Emma, playing nearby, suddenly stopped.
Her innocent eyes were wide, trying to comprehend the hushed, gossipy tones.
*Discovery 5: Emma shares her thoughts telling memories she unfurl while playing dress-up. Illustrates younger generations carrying pieces of family history unknowingly.*
Emma started telling me about a time she’d played dress-up.
“Mrs. Smith told Momma that my dress was too silly for the party,” Emma said. “She made Momma look very sad.”
It was then I realized Emma had overheard details about a family feud I knew nothing about.
A family feud that apparently involved *me*.
The uncomfortable atmosphere prompted me to take a stand.
“Aunt Carol,” I said, walking over, my voice firm. “Let’s focus on Emma today, shall we?”
Mrs. Miller gave me a frosty smile.
The air thickened with tension as family secrets lingered, threatening to unravel the day.
My heart ached.
Why had Mom never told me about this?
This incident severely impacted my sense of trust.
It pushed me closer to my family, especially Emma, amidst the chaos.
I decided I would address some of these unspoken issues during my graduation toast.
The day of graduation arrived.
The school gymnasium buzzed with proud parents and excited children.
Emma, in her sparkly, handmade dress, looked like a tiny, radiant star.
Karen still showed reluctance to fully embrace my decisions about the dress and the event.
“It’s… certainly unique, Natalie,” she said, her smile tight.
Emma, sensing the tension, squeezed my hand.
“Don’t worry, Natalie. My dress is the best.”
Her sweetness kept the peace, but I felt the pressure, reflecting on our family history.
I felt defensive, and her conflicting views led me to a bold decision.
I would speak my truth.
*Confrontation 6: Participants: Natalie, Karen, Emma. Trigger: A fitting for the dress creates discomfort as they handle stakes together. Escalation: The pressure causes Natalie to voice frustration; Karen becomes defensive. Outcome: They bond through emotional vulnerability while moving toward resolution.*
As Emma’s class lined up on stage, Karen approached me.
“Natalie, about what you said yesterday…” she began, her voice softer than usual.
“Mom, I meant what I said,” I replied, my voice steady. “I love you, but I need you to respect my choices. And Emma’s.”
Karen looked at Emma, then back at me.
“I’m trying,” she whispered, a rare vulnerability in her eyes.
“I know,” I said, and for the first time, I truly believed her.
We hugged, a tentative, emotional embrace.
A small step toward resolution.
When it was time for the parent speeches, my heart pounded.
I looked at Emma, beaming up at me from the first row of little chairs.
I looked at Karen, sitting beside Robert, her face etched with a mixture of pride and apprehension.
“Good afternoon, everyone,” I began, my voice clear. “I’m Natalie, Emma’s older sister.”
I spoke of Emma’s boundless imagination, her joy, her kindness.
“This dress,” I said, gesturing to Emma’s sparkling attire, “is a testament to Emma’s spirit. It’s also a testament to the love and collaboration that can blossom within a family.”
I paused, taking a breath.
“Families aren’t perfect. We have our traditions, our expectations, our unspoken tensions.”
*Confrontation 15: Participants: Natalie, Emma, Karen, audience. Objective: Natalie delivers a heartfelt speech praising Emma and expressing family’s importance. Conflict: She hints at family dynamics but without explicitly naming them. Discovery: Several audience members identify with the unspoken struggles; empathy manifests. Outcome: The audience’s warm reaction validates Natalie’s emotions, allowing family unity to resurface. Consequence: Karen feels challenged, leading to a private reflection.*
“Sometimes, we hurt the ones we love most, even unintentionally. Sometimes, we carry burdens from our past that prevent us from fully embracing the present.”
I looked directly at Karen, a silent message passing between us.
“But what matters most is that we face these challenges together. With honesty, with vulnerability, and with unwavering love.”
I hinted at family dynamics, without explicitly naming them, touching on love, creativity, and familial bonds.
Several audience members nodded, a silent acknowledgment of shared struggles.
Empathy filled the room.
The warm reaction from the audience validated my emotions.
Karen, watching me, looked challenged, leading to a private reflection in her eyes.
Family unity, though fragile, began to resurface.
The graduation ceremony ended with cheers and applause.
Outside the gym, in the warm spring air, Karen approached me, her eyes glistening.
“Natalie… your speech,” she began, her voice thick with emotion. “It was… profound. You were right. About everything.”
*Final Reveal: Karen, upon hearing Natalie’s honest remarks, acknowledges her own faults affecting their relationships; she reveals secrets about her upbringing that burdened her as a parent.*
She confessed her own childhood trauma, a legacy of strict expectations and emotional distance from her own parents.
“My mother always told me I had to be perfect. That anything less was a failure. I brought that into my own parenting. I’m so sorry, sweetie.”
Clouds lifted.
We confronted our feelings in a tense but ultimately vulnerable moment.
Her confession was a heavy truth.
But it was also a bridge.
Our bond began to mend, paving the road for deeper connections.
“I understand, Mom,” I said, tears streaming down my face. “It doesn’t make it okay, but I understand.”
We held each other, two women, mother and daughter, finally seeing each other, truly seeing.
We continued our conversation, touching on established ground for future discussions.
There was so much to unpack.
So much healing to do.
But we had started.
The homecoming celebration at the Thompson house was a joyous, if slightly chaotic, affair.
Multigenerational support filled the backyard.
Then, a moment of unexpected guests brought additional family secrets to the surface.
Our Uncle Thomas, a jovial but often tactless man, arrived with his family.
He launched into a story about a decades-old family feud, something about land and a forgotten will.
He even referenced the Smith family again, though vaguely, not realizing he was touching on a raw nerve for Natalie.
Important family members started sharing traditional stories.
They were filled with past successes, yes, but also failures, misunderstandings, and painful choices.
*Twist 8: Setup – A flashback illustrates a roaring family reunion that is disrupted by a small conflict. Reveal: Through process, it is revealed that the issue stemmed from a secret never addressed. Why it matters: Demonstrates that conflict leads to isolation but is ultimately a needed part of healing. Emotional fallout: Natalie acknowledges her own reluctance to share feelings, realizing the need for healing.*
Robert, usually so quiet about family history, shared a story about his own parents’ argument over a lost family heirloom.
It had caused a rift that lasted years, all because they refused to talk about it.
“Sometimes, the silence hurts more than the shouting,” he mused, looking pointedly at Karen.
His words, echoing my earlier speech, resonated deeply.
I acknowledged my own reluctance to share feelings, realizing the profound need for healing in our family.
Emotional resonance deepened with shared stories, revealing common ground.
Laughter and tears mingled.
The open sharing clinched a new sense of unity and acceptance within the family dynamics.
Later, in the backyard, as the evening cooled, Robert, Karen, and I sat together.
We reflected on the day, on the family’s dynamics, the honor, and the celebration.
Tensions still arose, small misunderstandings about traditions versus modern values.
But this time, we talked through them.
No more silence.
We took turns acknowledging everyone’s strengths and weaknesses.
Robert spoke of Karen’s dedication, but also her need for control.
Karen spoke of my creativity, but also my tendency to retreat.
An epiphany struck me.
I realized the importance of embracing our history, with all its flaws and secrets, rather than suppressing it.
The family grew closer, agreeing to work on the emotional elements that had separated them for so long.
It was a candid talk about future collaboration on family-oriented projects, a new chapter.
As the stars began to pepper the night sky, Emma and I sat on the porch swing.
“The dress was the best, Natalie,” Emma whispered, leaning her head on my shoulder. “It made me feel like a real princess.”
I shared my overall experience with her.
How the dress ultimately became more than just fabric and stitches.
It symbolized our bond.
Our journey.
Our love.
Emma hugged the dress, which was now carefully folded beside her.
“Can we keep it forever? For my big sister to wear when *she* graduates?” she asked, her voice full of hope.
My heart swelled.
Our sibling bond had never been stronger.
Her innocent request connected back to childhood dreams and future endeavors.
We decided, right there, to plan Emma’s future big events.
Her middle school dance. Her high school prom. Her college graduation.
Binding us closer than before.
The final family gathering at the table was an open conversation about the past and future.
Each character confronted their fears and joys, openly, in front of everyone.
Karen spoke of her guilt.
Robert spoke of his fear of conflict.
I spoke of my insecurity.
Emma, in her own way, spoke of her fear of disappointing us.
We recognized the importance of unity, despite our imperfect dynamics.
This closing gathering reflected hope and healing, culminating in bonding moments.
An emotional resolution, built on trust, began to solidify.
We planned more family traditions moving forward, setting the groundwork for the next chapter of our family history.
A faint light broke through the same garden the next morning.
I was putting my sewing supplies back in place.
I recalled the trials faced, the frustrations, the tears.
But I also recognized the immense growth.
The journey together had matured me, had given me strength I didn’t know I possessed.
The song of resilience rang sweet and clear.
A family learning, healing, and holding tightly together.
My heart felt full.
Empowered by a promise that the future held beauty.
I understood that while secrets forge challenges, truth and love can heal and unite.
My sewing machine sat quietly, a symbol of dreams unimpeded.
What would you have done in Natalie’s place when facing such deep-seated family secrets?
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