Michael moved beside me. The light from his imposing Christmas tree shone against his wedding ring.
His body language changed: subtle, but unmistakable. Like a man preparing.
“Dad,” he said quietly, “you can’t spend Christmas here.
The sentence fell like a blow to the chest.
Flash.Page Pack
“I’m sorry, what?”
He stared at the marble coffee table instead of my face. The same one that had helped her choose when Isabella decided that her old furniture seemed “unsophisticated.”
“Issablah’s parents come,” he murmured. “And they... would rather you weren’t here.”
My fingers were numb.
“They prefer,” I echoed.
“It’s easier,” he said weakly. “They are very particular about traditions.”
His voice shrank with every word.
