The lights on the tree pulsed in a languid, sleepy pattern, their brilliance reflecting off the ornaments Lily and I had put just the week before. I could already see Lily’s face as she dashed down the stairs, her eyes wide with joy.
But something seemed odd.
“Lily?” I called, glancing toward the stairs. No response. Odd. She was generally awake before me on Christmas.
Fifteen minutes passed, followed by thirty.
Anxiety nipped at the edge of my mind. I laid the spatula down and washed my hands with a dish towel.
“Lily?” I called again, this time louder, as I ascended the steps. Her room was at the end of the hallway, and her door cracked slightly. “You awake, bug?” I carefully nudged it open.
She was sitting on the side of her bed, still wearing her fleece penguin pajamas. Her teddy bunny, Buttons, lay limp in her palms. Her head was lowered, and her hair fell like a curtain across her face.
I kneeled in front of her, tilting my head to meet her gaze. “What’s wrong, baby girl?”
Her lips tightened, and she shook her head.
“I don’t want to,” she replied gently. Her voice was little, scarcely audible.
For a moment, I assumed she wouldn’t say anything, but then she murmured, “Grandpa told me the truth about Mom.”
I blinked, my thoughts searching for context. “What is the truth? What do you mean?”
Her gaze flickered to me, assessing my reaction. “He said… he said Santa’s not real, that Mom buys me presents because she feels bad about always working and never being home. And that she doesn’t care about me.”
I drew her into my arms before she could see the rage building behind my eyes. “That’s not true, honey. None of that is true.” I stroked my palm down her back, detecting the little tremors of her breathing.
“You know your mom loves you so much, right? More than anything.”
She sniffled into my shirt. “Then why isn’t she here?”
“Because she’s working hard to help people, just like she always does. But she’s coming home early today. Just for you.”
She eventually calmed down enough for me to lay her back down. I brushed her hair back from her face.
“I’m gonna call Grandpa, okay? You stay here and rest for a bit.”
He picked up on the third ring. “Merry Christmas, son!” he said, far too chipper. “I would ask to speak to Sarah, but I imagine she’s working, as usual.”
“Yeah, she is working today. Merry Christmas,” I replied, my voice cold as steel. “We need to talk. Why on earth did you tell Lily that Sarah doesn’t care about her? Bad enough that you told her Santa isn’t real, but to make her doubt her mother’s love? That’s low.”
He sounded irritated. “That woman is never home. Always off saving strangers. What kind of mother does that?”
“She should put her family first,” Dad grumbled.
My voice raised, with heat spilling through every word. “She does! She’s been working extra shifts to help her parents through a tight spot. You don’t get to tear her down because you don’t understand it.”
I finished the call and returned to the kitchen.
I had a Christmas feast to plan for my family.
Later that day, I was standing in the kitchen making gravy when I heard the front door creak open.
I turned in time to see Sarah drop her bag and catch Lily mid-leap.
I watched them from the kitchen, feeling the weight in my chest finally ease.
That night, after Lily had fallen asleep and the dishes were done, I perched on the edge of the couch, phone in hand.
He picked up on the second ring. “You calling to apologize, son?”
“I’m calling to tell you that if you ever make my daughter doubt her mother’s love again, you won’t be welcome in this house. Not on Christmas. Not on any day.”
For the first time in a long while, I felt like I’d done right by my family.
