I put the plate in the microwave, and once I’ve taken it out, I sit at the table, where one set of utensils welcomes me. There’s also the thriller I picked up from the library two days ago. Sinister to read this on Christmas night? Perhaps, but can’t be worse than continuing to mope. Next to my chair, Molly and Maybelle are still gulping their food down. Maybe I’ll give them a piece of my meal as a special treat.

“Merry Christmas, girls,” I tell them before picking up my fork. But just before I can start digging in, something weird happens.

Someone knocks on my front door.

What the hell? Who bothers people on December 25th? If it’s carolers, it might just bring me to tears. I always thought I liked being alone, but after the day I’ve spent, this loneliness is bone-chilling.

My mother’s residence organized a special dinner for the residents and their families tonight, and I’ve been told how much she enjoys attending it each year. I didn’t want to ruin it for her, so I went to see her this morning instead. I probably shouldn’t have, but I couldn’t imagine not going to see my own mother on Christmas Day.

In the end, I only stayed ten minutes. Mom obviously didn’t recognize me. She called me a thief, then started hysterically crying while begging me not to hurt her. Someone came and asked me to leave, but I was already halfway out the door, nausea churning in my gut. She’d rarely reacted this strongly—and negatively—to me.

It was one of the worst days of my life.

So tonight, I really, really have no patience left in me.

I get up, ready to tell whoever it is to leave me alone, but words die on my tongue as soon as I open the door.

Impossible.

Aaron is standing on my landing, dressed in dark jeans and a clean white shirt, a dark wool coat on top. Snowflakes dust his dark hair, which is combed to the side.

He’s a dream.

I mean, I must be dreaming.

“What…” I start.

He smiles, which makes him even dreamier. “Merry Christmas, Wren.”

“But… How… What are you doing here?” I end up saying, mouth hanging open like a fish out of water.

“Figured you hadn’t changed your plans, and no one should spend Christmas alone.” He looks down, then extends his hand, a red container in it. “Oh, and Ma made way too much puerco asado, so I thought I’d bring you some.”

I keep staring at him like I’ve lost my mind, taking his extended container numbly.

He drove here. On Christmas night. Because he knew I would be alone.

Not much gets to me in life. Without wanting to throw myself a pity party, I’ve gone through a lot. It’s gotten hard to phase me.