Page 570 of End Game

I look at her.

Her face is wet.

Her voice is shaking.

But she doesn't take it back.

“I didn't ask you to pretend it was something you believe in.”

“We cannot have this in our home.”

“I'm not asking to bring anyone here tonight.”

“You know what I mean.”

I do.

I make her say it anyway.

“No. Tell me.”

Dad turns slightly toward her.

She shakes her head and wipes at her face.

“No, he wants us to say it.” Her voice cracks. “So I’ll say it.”

Something inside my chest goes very still.

“If you're choosing to live openly this way, we can't have you coming to family gatherings as if nothing has changed.”

Something behind my ribs cracks—like ice under weight.

A small sound you hear before you realize the surface isn't safe anymore.

“Christmas?”

Mom cries harder.

Dad's eyes shine now too. “Son.”

I look at Mom.

“Christmas?”

She looks down.

That is the answer.

“Easter?”

No one speaks.

“Aunt Rachel's?”

“Micah, please,” Mom whispers.

“Hannah's birthday?”