My doorbell rang twice on Christmas Eve. Both times filled me with intense anticipation. The first time was the UPS man delivering a package from New York. It was from Nicholas. I supposed it was my last gift. I didn’t open it. I couldn’t bring myself to read his letter.

The second time the doorbell rang was later that afternoon. I was sure it was Nicholas. I hoped it was as much as I hoped it wasn’t. I took a deep breath before looking through my door’s peephole. Dan was standing outside leaning on one hand against my door. He must have known I was looking through the lens because he suddenly leaned forward and looked through the opposite side of the peephole until his eye filled my field of vision.

I pulled opened the door. “What do you want?”

“Glad you finally decided to come home,” he said.

“What do you want?” I repeated.

“I already told you what I want. I want us again. The way it should be.”

“And I told you I wasn’t interested.”

“Why? Because you think you’re in love?”

“No,” I said. “It’s over.”

“So things didn’t work out with the lawyer in New York.”

I didn’t answer.

“Well, it’s for the better. With a past like his, you didn’t want to get mixed up with that guy anyway.”

“What are you talking about?” I said.

“Will you let me in? It’s freezing out here.”

I stepped back from the door, and he walked in. He sat on my sofa. “So, I got the lowdown on your lawyer. He’s not who you think he is.”

“No one ever is,” I said.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Dan said. “I am. With me, what you see is what you get.”

“You mean a narcissistic cheater,” I said.

He grinned, looking more impressed by my words than insulted. “Looks like you’ve finally grown some attitude.”

“It’s about time I did.”

“So let me tell you about your friend.”

“I don’t care,” I said.

“Good. Because he’s a first-class loser.”

Hearing this made me angry. “No, he’s nothing like you.”

“Then you’re not over him.”

“He’s a good man.”

“Then you won’t mind me telling you that he’s a drunk.”

I shook my head. “He doesn’t even drink.”

“Then maybe he stopped after he killed the family.”

I looked at him. “What are you talking about?”

“Your friend has a serious criminal record. Or at least he should have one. He was driving drunk when he crashed his car into a family crossing a crosswalk. Two parents and two children. He killed three of them.”

“You’re a liar.”

“I thought you might say that, so I brought proof. I printed it off the Internet.”

He unfolded a piece of paper from his coat pocket and handed it to me. The headline read,