Each year the family sent out a photo of the children for the holidays. Marianne had a stack of the pictures in her hope chest— Lucas as a baby in a miniature sleigh, then with a tiny Santa hat, then holding his sister, propped up and grinning against a pile of fake snow. At the studio the photographer arranged Sarah next to a plastic Christmas tree and gave her a present wrapped in gold and silver paper. She shook it and Marianne watched her face drop as she realized it was empty. Lucas was placed behind, a hand on Sarah’s shoulder. The matching sweaters Marianne had knit them didn’t quite fit. Sarah’s sleeves ended just past the elbows, and the snowflakes stretched across Lucas’s chest as if someone had held on to them and pulled.

They were beautiful children. Both had Marianne’s dark hair and skin but kept Richard’s pale blue eyes. Against the fake fireplace Lucas looked taller, and Marianne could almost picture him as a teenager, posing for his high school yearbook, slight acne on his chin and a faraway look. Sarah wrinkled her nose as if she were about to sneeze. She still had the pudgy cheeks of a baby.

Marianne felt Richard take her hand. She pressed her palm into his and held on. Lucas bent over the fireplace, and she saw that he was whispering in Sarah’s ear.

“Leave me alone,” Sarah said.

“Face the camera now.” The photographer huddled underneath the black curtain.

“Stop it,” Sarah said. “Mom, he’s pinching me.”

“Just look at the camera,” said Marianne. “We’re almost done.”

“But it hurts!”

“Smile,” Marianne begged. She could feel Richard tightening his grip.

Sarah’s chin dimpled as if she were about to start crying, and suddenly Lucas knocked the present out of her hands and sank his teeth into her arm, tearing a hole in her sweater as she struggled to get away. The silver and gold box was crushed, the Christmas tree knocked over and ornaments broken, before their parents were able to separate them.

Richard insisted on still taking the picture. “We’ve already paid for this,” he said. “We’ll take it together, all of us.” He stood between the children, his arms pinning each of them painfully to his side. “You better smile.” The photographer quickly rearranged the lights. He could not wait to be rid of their family. Marianne stood in the corner, partially covered in darkness. She paused for a moment before stepping forward to join them.

On the way home Lucas kicked Sarah in the backseat, stretching out across the vinyl and digging his heels into her side. Richard kept one hand on the wheel and the other behind him, reaching blindly for his son’s legs, trying to stop the fight.

“I wish you were dead!” Lucas shouted.

Sarah pressed her hands against her ears and curled up into the corner.