On Christmas morning, we gathered in the living room in matching pajamas, laughing and tearing through wrapping paper. Everything felt warm and safe… until it was his turn.
He picked up Callie’s gift, his hands visibly shaking.
Lila leaned closer, curious.
I stopped breathing.
He opened the box—and the moment he saw what was inside, the color drained from his face.
His eyes filled instantly.
Tears spilled down his cheeks.
“I have to go,” he said, his voice breaking.
Lila stared at him, confused and frightened.
“Dad… what happened?
Dad?” Lila asked, confused. “What happened?”
“Greg,” I said, fighting panic, “where are you going? It’s Christmas. What about our family?”.
He didn’t answer.
“Dad?”
He stood suddenly, still clutching the box. Then he knelt, gently cupped Lila’s face, and kissed her forehead.
“I love you so much, sweetheart,” he said softly. “Dad has to take care of something urgent, okay? I promise I’ll be back.”
She nodded, but fear flickered in her eyes as she hugged her stuffed animal tighter.
Greg hurried toward our bedroom. I followed, my heart racing.
“What’s going on?” I asked, blocking the doorway. “You’re scaring me.
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