“Merry Christmas, Emily.”
He hesitated.
Then held out the tin.
I took it.
He nodded once.
Kindly.
Without expectation.
Then walked back down the steps into the snow.
I watched his taillights turn the corner.
And I felt something I never expected to feel about him again.
Not love.
Not anger.
Peace.
The built kind.
Long after the guests left and the dishes were done, I sat on the couch in the tree’s glow with Biscuit’s warm head on my foot.
The house was quiet in the good way.
I opened my laptop, meaning to check one email.
Instead, my cursor drifted toward a folder on the desktop.
CHRISTMAS PHOTOS.
I had almost forgotten it remained there.
Inside were the screenshots.
The hotel receipt.
The jewelry charge.
The photograph of Daniel’s note on the counter.
The paper trail of the worst month of my life, filed beneath the most innocent name I could think of because I hadn’t wanted Daniel to look twice.
I opened it.
Scrolled.
