that table and felt like a placeholder. She chose this. I just stopped covering it up.”
He didn’t answer.
His silence told me he understood, even if he would never admit it.
“Merry Christmas, Dad,” I said, and hung up.
A few hours later, someone knocked on my door.
Loud.
Frantic.
Desperate.
For a second, my stomach dropped.
But when I opened it, it wasn’t my mother.
It was Ryan.
No coat.
Cheeks flushed from the cold.
A half-wrapped gift in his hands.
The hallway behind him was empty.
“Can
