Page 86 of Verdict

Christmas without Callie.

Christmas without Ellie.

Christmas without… her.

I glanced at my phone.

Ava had planned to leave early in the morning. If this storm were real, the roads might already be bad. Before I could overthink it, I pulled up her name.

Me: Are you still heading to Primrose Hill tomorrow?

I stared at the message for a second.

Then hit send.

I didn’t hear from Ava until the following morning.

My phone buzzed just as I was standing at the window, staring out at a city that looked like it had been dipped in glass.

Trouble: Sorry it took so long to respond. I had a ton of things to wrap up for work before Christmas! The plan was to leave this morning, but as you probably have noticed, the roads are iced over. We're stuck. Did Callie make it?

She wasn’t exaggerating. Austin was coated in a thick sheen of ice. Trees bowed under the weight of it. The streets were empty—no cars, no movement. Just stillness.

The kind that felt isolating.

Me: Nope. Her flight was cancelled yesterday.

The typing bubble appeared almost instantly.

Trouble: I’m sorry. This sucks. I’ve never had a Christmas without my family.

I stared at that message longer than I meant to. I hadn’t had a Christmas with a full family since I was nineteen. Since a coach had pulled me out of practice and changed my life in a single sentence. Some years, I saw Callie. Some years I didn’t. And the years we did manage to coordinate, it was rarely on the actual day. No one knew this—not my teammates, not even Walker—but the years we couldn’t get together, I spent Christmas alone.

Did I have offers?

Sure.

I always had teammates inviting me to join them and their families. But the thought of warm kitchens, loud living rooms, and traditions that weren’t mine made the loss louder. It made my mom’s absence undeniable.

So, I stayed home.

But I had a daughter now. Which meant this year didn’t have to look like the others. Without thinking too hard about the implications, about the proximity and about how badly I’d fumbled that moment in her foyer on Thanksgiving…

I typed.

Me: Yeah, it does. I stocked my fridge for Callie’s visit. You and Ellie can spend Xmas at my place if you want?

My thumb hovered over the send button for half a second before I mustered up the courage to send it.

Three dots appeared.

Disappeared.

Appeared again.

I could practically see her pacing, her brain working on overdrive.

And then finally she responded—