My chest tightens.
I didn’t just embarrass him yesterday. I humiliated him. In front of his friends. His colleagues. Investors. Half of Dallas high society.
I didn’t show up to the life he picked, after he spent months bragging about what a perfect match he’d arranged.
“What is he going to do?” I whisper, and the fear that’s been lurking under the adrenaline finally sinks its teeth in.
He can call every contact he’s ever handed my name to and pull it back. He can poison wells I didn’t even know I was going to need to drink from. He can make sure no one in his world touches me professionally again, and in his world, that’s basically the whole map I’ve been living on.
And then there’s Mom. Charlotte.
What has he told them?
I swing my feet restlessly, my heel bumping the nightstand beside the bed. There’s a little bottle there. Water. And Ibuprofen.
My throat tightens. Dallas must have left it there.
The small, practical kindness almost undoes me. I unscrew the cap with trembling fingers and swallow two pills with half the water, the coolness sliding down and settling in my stomach like a stone.
I can’t stay in this bed. If I stay here, I’m going to spiral right down into some hole I won’t be able to crawl back out of. My brain keeps offering me different angles on the same disaster, like it’s flipping through channels. My father’s face when he realized I had left, Evan’s expression cooling from confusion to fury, guests whispering about the runaway bride as the music kept playing.
Somewhere in the midst of that, another smell sneaks in, soft and insistent.
Cinnamon. Sugar. Something savory. Ham, maybe? And coffee. Definitely coffee.
Christmas.
The realization hits in a weird, disjointed way. I know it’s Christmas, technically. I knew it last night, in the truck, in the snow, in the panic. But feeling it is different. The house hums with it, with that crowded, cozy energy of too many people and too much food and not enough chairs.
Once upon a time, McCoy Christmas meant I’d already be here by dawn, helping Maggie. I’d watch her roll dough and tell stories about the boys as kids while Rusty, younger and less gray, lurked around the table, hoping for scraps. There’d be music playing from that same radio on the windowsill, some old crooner or a country Christmas album on repeat.
My chest aches in a different way now.
I stand slowly, testing my balance. The room tilts only a little this time. My body feels heavy, like every muscle is sore from clenching. I pull my fingers through my hair, wincing at the tangles, and catch sight of myself in the dresser mirror.
I look better than last night, which isn’t saying much. My mascara is gone, either cried, washed, or pillow-smeared away. The freckles across my nose are more visible without the makeup. My cheeks are still too pale. The T-shirt and flannel hang off me, the sweatpants rolled twice at the waist and cuffed at the ankles. I look like I’ve been playing dress up in someone else’s life.
I blow out a breath.
“Well, Faith,” I tell my reflection. “You wanted real. This is about as real as it gets.”
I grab my locket, thumb brushing over the tiny hinge.
“Gran,” I whisper, because it makes me feel less alone, “if you’ve got any more of that wisdom tucked away, now would be a great time.”
Don’t let anyone talk you out of your own heart, sugar.
Her voice echoes in my head, soft and matter-of-fact. It doesn’t magically fix anything, but it steadies me just enough to open the door.
The hallway is cool, the wood under my socks smooth and familiar. The smells are stronger out here, rich and comforting. Somewhere, a clock ticks. Somewhere else, someone laughs—high and bright and unmistakably a little girl.
I freeze.
Of course there are kids here. I saw the stockings and everything. But hearing them is different. Hearing them now, on this day, in this house, when my own life is in pieces at my feet, hits me in a strange, tender place.
Voices drift down the hall as I move quietly toward them.
“…told you, if you eat another cookie before lunch, your stomach’s gonna hurt.” That’s Maggie, stern and fond all at once.
