Downplay| Jordan Clarkson & Quincy Brown

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An Underwood Christmas had certain traditions and one always took place on Christmas morning. The children would all sit around the dining room table as Grandma Mary and Uncle Gregory constructed a coveted gingerbread house. Aya would always sneak gum drops from the decorations while Amari always snuck icing from anywhere, he could. Mary would scold him lightly before wiping the evidence of his sneakiness from his face, but fondness never left her features as she did so. Aya and Amari loved the tradition, but it quickly became one that Yara hated.

Uncle Gregory would pull up a chair for her beside him and allow her to help him ice the roof, but she could never shake the cold regard that Mary had for her. The older woman would barely glance at her while praising Aya and Amari's every move. It never ceased, from the first Christmas to the thirteenth Mary had made sure to show Yara just how unimportant she was. After they'd divided the house, Aya and Amari would get kisses and gifts while Yara would get the same thing she got every year – a gift card to Target. Ironically, she'd used those to invest in her first planners, the ones she detailed her first events in.

Still, she couldn't forgive Mary for ruining holidays for her, for placing the blame of her father's imperfections on her existence. She didn't ask to be born, moreover she never asked to be an Underwood but she was.

"Merry Christmas baby girl." Uncle Gregory would always fill the gap of affection. While their grandmother lavished the beloved twins he'd slide her a gift, always wrapped in sparkly gold paper. Aya's were always baby pink and Amari's midnight blue, under the burden of his mother's favoritism Gregory always strove to make each of his bonus children feel loved.

The only person that knew her better was Aunt Denise.

"Thank you dad." She'd always tell him before being smothered in one of his bearhugs. Aunt Denise would watch with affection from the kitchen before ushering her over. Her eyes always glowed with love and strength. She'd watched them all grow up, raised them each under her roof.

Aya and Amari were the spitting images of Amaia and Michael. They had a village behind them, and she was integral to it. Aya was bright and dreamy, she saw the world as her oyster, a limitless place and Amari viewed it as his playground. The only Underwood heir had a penchant for finding trouble, but he was a protector with a heart of gold who always looked after his sisters. He had his father's smile, but his mother's kind eyes. No matter what mess he made, he always made sure it didn't hurt his loved ones.

Yara was different, jaded from the day she'd arrived on their doorstep. She'd seen more than any child should have. She'd gone nights without food or light or water, she'd bounced from her mother's care to her grandmother's and then to them after the latter's death. Her mother was unfit, unhinged. Back then, Yara loved her still even if she didn't understand her reasoning. Denise knew more about her than anyone in the house and that's why she knew Yara was the most loving but the least trusting.

From the day she'd arrived she regarded Denise and Gregory differently. Over the years, she'd called Denise, mom and Gregory, dad, unlike her siblings. In return, they shielded her from Mary because she was theirs, their only child, their star, their baby girl.

Every Christmas when Mary shunned her, Gregory loved her, and Denise would bring her in the kitchen where they shared special hot chocolate and baked sweet potato casserole. They would remind her that she was more than enough.

Yara fingered the 2007 photo of her situated between Denise and Gregory in front of the Christmas Tree and sighed. She had told them not to worry about her this year, but she missed them.

Turning to the only remanent of the holiday, she tapped an emerald ornament of her white Christmas tree before she took a seat on the couch and brushed her hand through her hair. They didn't know yet and she didn't know how to tell them. Although, knowing her mom she knew everything already, in fact she'd already suspected in Colorado. Yara knew they'd be supportive, but she was also aware of the fact that they knew her better than anyone else and they'd know that she wasn't happy. She was coping and not persevering. She was having a child with a man she wasn't in love with while forcing herself to recapture that feeling just to have the family her mother never gave her.