Once inside, she’d seen the longing in Abby’s eyes, the desire, and she simply wanted to skip the festivities and head to bed. But no, they couldn’t do that, could they? With a sigh, she turned her attention to the piano as Bill drummed his fingers across the keys, then played the opening notes to “Silver Bells.” She didn’t know all the words, so she only pretended to sing along. She found herself staring at Abby, who had a beautiful voice. Abby looked her way, holding her gaze. She stopped singing altogether, her mind conjuring up all the things she intended to do once they got into bed. Abby’s eyes darkened and she, too, stopped singing. Had she read her mind? A tiny smile told her yes.

“Silver Bells” blended into another song. She’d heard it before, yes, but she didn’t know the name. Like the holiday itself, Christmas music had never been a part of her life. She learned the most common songs in school, like “Jingle Bells,” but it wasn’t something she carried with her. She found herself receding to the background, watching the others as they sang. Holly was standing next to Abby now, and they sang together.

She felt those fingers of loneliness creeping in again, but she didn’t let them totally take hold this time. She tried to focus on the words she heard, hoping they would conjure up some happy memory. All she felt was pain, though. Fifteen years ago, her Christmas Eve had been filled with pain—with screaming and yelling, accusations and blame. And then the blinding pain, both physical and emotional.

Fifteen years ago. A lifetime, yet it could have been yesterday. She should have stayed in Dallas. She should have stayed with people who loved her. But here she was, at this most trying of times, pretending to be happy and in love. Pretending that she was over the emotional wreck of that night. Pretending—

“Hey, you okay?”

The words were for her ears only, and she was surprised to find Abby next to her. She’d been in a lost daze, apparently. She hadn’t noticed her approach. She nodded automatically.

“Sure. Fine.” She met her gaze. “I…I don’t know the words.”

She felt Abby’s hand slip into hers. “That’s okay. You don’t have to sing.” She leaned closer. “I’m ready to sneak upstairs anyway. Are you?”

She nodded. “About four songs ago.”

Abby smiled at her. “Then let’s go.”

Nic looked at the others, who were still singing. “Just like that? Can we?”

“Of course.” Abby turned, motioning to her mother, then pointing upstairs. Sandra winked at them, never missing a beat as she sang.