Before leaving, I asked Clare whether she needed help on Christmas Day.
“We’re serving dinner from eleven until three,” she replied. “We could use another pair of hands in the kitchen.”
“Then put my name down.”
That evening, Adam finally called.
He explained that Renee’s mother had been struggling after losing her job and separating from her husband.
They wanted Christmas to focus on her side of the family.
“I understand,” I said. “But you could have told me yourself.”
“Mom, please don’t make this complicated.”
His words hurt more than he realized.
I simply wished him a Merry Christmas.
After hanging up, I walked to my kitchen calendar.
I crossed out:
Noon. Adam’s house.
Underneath, I wrote:
Westdale. 10 a.m.
The following morning, someone began knocking urgently at my front door.
“Mom! Open up!”
I glanced at the clock.
7:15 a.m.
When I opened the door, Adam stood on the porch holding his phone.
