“Science,” Noah said immediately. “Mostly space. But not fake space stuff.”
Ethan looked up.
“What is fake space stuff?”
“I don’t know. You said that.”
“I said inaccurate space movies.”
“Same thing.”
Michael smiled.
“And Sophia?”
“Talking.”
“I heard that,” Sophia said.
“And Olivia?”
Noah lowered his voice.
“Olivia likes money.”
Olivia rolled her eyes.
“I like business.”
“You sold rocks.”
“They were decorated.”
“You found them in Grandma June’s driveway.”
“I added value.”
Michael stared at her.
Then at me.
I covered my mouth.
He laughed again.
Olivia crossed her arms.
“My business made thirty-two dollars.”
Michael nodded solemnly.
“I apologize.”
“Thank you.”
Something painful moved through his expression.
They were strangers.
Yet they weren’t.
Their mannerisms were different. Their personalities belonged entirely to them.
But little pieces of Michael were everywhere.
Noah tapped his fingers when excited.
Ethan squinted before answering difficult questions.
Sophia tilted her head exactly the way Michael used to when he suspected someone was teasing him.
And Olivia had his confidence.
His old confidence.
Before suspicion and pride hardened it into something else.
Linda appeared beside me.
“May I speak with you?”
I followed her into the dining room.
She stood beside the long table.
Eight place settings had become twelve.
Someone had added four chairs.
Linda ran her hand over the back of one.
“I didn’t know.”
“I believe you.”
She looked at me quickly.
I realized it was true.
At least about the children.
“I need you to understand something,” she said. “I would have come.”
My eyes filled.
She continued before I could answer.
“If I had known you were carrying my grandchildren, I would have come to Texas.”
“I know.”
“I would have been at the hospital.”
“I know.”
“I would have helped you.”
My voice became smaller.
“I know.”
Linda covered her mouth.
I had spent so many nights alone.
The first year after the children were born was a blur of schedules.
Feed Noah.
Feed Ethan.
Feed Sophia.
Feed Olivia.
Sleep forty minutes.
Start again.
My mother, June, had moved into my small rental house for six months. Dana, who was then my neighbor instead of my assistant, came over almost every evening.
We survived through spreadsheets, casseroles, borrowed baby clothes, and desperate humor.
Later came work.
I left teaching and built a tutoring service from my kitchen table.
Then an education consulting company.
Then software.
Success did not arrive overnight.
It arrived in small pieces.
One client.
Three clients.
A contract.
A loan.
A mistake.
Another contract.
A year when I almost lost everything.
Then growth.
By the time the children turned six, the company had offices in three cities.
The helicopter had been chartered that morning because four children, winter weather, and a tight holiday schedule made private aviation practical.
Nothing more.
Standing in Linda’s dining room, I suddenly wondered what Michael had thought when he saw it.
Probably exactly what I once thought he would think.
That I had come to make a point.
Maybe part of me had.
That realization humbled me.
“I didn’t come here to punish you,” I said.
Linda nodded.
“I know.”
“I thought I did.”
She waited.
I looked through the doorway.
Michael was showing Ethan something on his phone.
A photograph of a telescope, perhaps.
“I spent years wanting him to regret leaving.”
“Does he?”
“Yes.”
“How does that feel?”
I gave her an honest answer.
“Not nearly as good as I expected.”
Linda smiled sadly.
“Regret is usually disappointing.”
Before I could respond, the doorbell rang.
Rebecca looked toward the entryway.
“Are we expecting someone?”
Linda frowned.
“No.”
Uncle James stood.
“I’ll get it.”
The door opened.
A man’s voice carried into the house.
“I’m looking for Linda Carter.”
Linda stiffened.
James appeared in the dining room.
“There’s a gentleman here.”
“Who?”
“He says his name is Samuel Price.”
The glass in my hand nearly slipped.
“Price?”
Michael stood immediately.
I looked at him.
“Daniel Price?”
He was already walking toward the entryway.
The man outside was around seventy.
Tall.
Thin.
Snow covered the shoulders of his gray coat.
He held a brown leather folder against his chest.
His eyes moved from Linda to Michael.
Then to me.
He stopped.
“Ava?”
I stared at him.
“Do I know you?”
“No.”
He stepped inside.
“My brother did.”
The house seemed to shrink around us.
“Your brother?”
“Daniel Price.”
My former attorney.
Michael’s face hardened.
“What are you doing here?”
Samuel looked uncomfortable.
“I received a message this morning.”
“From whom?”
“My brother’s estate attorney.”
I frowned.
“Daniel is dead?”
Samuel nodded.
“Three weeks ago.”
I felt no grief.
Only an unexpected emptiness.
Samuel looked at the children near the tree.
His expression changed.
“Are those…”
“Yes,” I said.
He removed his glasses.
“My God.”
Michael stepped between us.
“Why are you here?”
Samuel looked at him.
“Because Daniel left instructions.”
“What instructions?”
“To deliver this folder on Christmas Day.”
I stared at the leather case.
“To whom?”
Samuel looked directly at me.
“Ava Morgan.”
No one spoke.
Samuel handed me the folder.
It was heavier than expected.
“What is this?”
“I don’t know everything that’s inside.”
“Then tell me what you do know.”
He hesitated.
“Daniel and I were not close. Not for many years.”
I waited.
“Three months ago, he called me. He said he had done something a long time ago that he should have corrected.”
My skin turned cold.
“What?”
“He wouldn’t say.”
Michael moved closer.
“Did he mention my father?”
Samuel looked at him.
“Yes.”
Linda gripped the back of a chair.
Samuel continued.
“He said Robert Carter had paid him.”
I couldn’t move.
“To do what?” I whispered.
Samuel shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
“Why Christmas?”
“That was very specific.”
He glanced at the folder.
“Daniel said I was to deliver it on the first Christmas that Ava Morgan returned to the Carter family home.”
Michael stared.
“How could he possibly know she would come?”
Samuel’s silence answered before his words did.
“He didn’t.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“He told me that if you never returned, I was to destroy the folder unopened ten years after his death.”
“Then how did you know I was here?”
Samuel looked toward Michael.
“Someone called the estate attorney this morning.”
Michael’s confusion appeared genuine.
“Who?”
“The caller didn’t leave a name.”
My children were watching now.
I forced myself to breathe.
This was not how I wanted their first Christmas with the Carter family to unfold.
I tucked the folder under my arm.
“Not now.”
Michael stared at me.
“Ava.”
“Not in front of them.”
He glanced toward the children and nodded.
For once, we agreed without argument.
Christmas dinner was strange.
There was no other word for it.
Linda insisted everyone sit.
Rebecca brought out more plates.
Someone carved the turkey.
Uncle James told a story about Michael getting trapped inside a garden shed when he was nine.
The children laughed.
Michael protested.
For thirty minutes at a time, the mystery of the folder almost disappeared.
Almost.
I watched Michael with them.
He did not pretend.
I appreciated that.
He didn’t suddenly call them nicknames or behave like a father who had always been there.
He asked questions.
What books did they read?
What were their favorite subjects?
Did they have pets?
Noah told him about our elderly golden retriever, Biscuit.
Sophia informed him that Biscuit technically belonged to her.
The other three immediately objected.
Michael listened.
That was all.
It was more than I expected.
After dinner, Linda gave each child a small gift.
She apologized repeatedly for not having more.
The children didn’t care.
Noah received a book about Colorado wildlife.
Ethan got a small astronomy calendar.
Sophia received a red scarf.
Olivia got a wooden puzzle box.
Linda had chosen the gifts before she knew they existed.
They had originally been meant for a charity collection.
Somehow that made the moment sweeter.
Olivia hugged her first.
Linda closed her eyes.
Then all four children surrounded her.
I turned away.
Michael was standing beside me.
“Thank you.”
I looked at him.
“For what?”
“Bringing them.”
“I brought them for them.”
“I know.”
We watched his mother.
“Do they know why I left?”
“No.”
“What did you tell them?”
“That we separated before they were born.”
“That’s all?”
“No.”
He waited.
“I told them you didn’t know how to be part of our family.”
Michael absorbed the sentence.
“That’s kinder than I deserved.”
“It wasn’t for you.”
“I know.”
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then he nodded toward the hallway.
“The folder.”
I sighed.
We returned to the study.
This time Rebecca joined us.
So did Linda.
Samuel had left after giving me his phone number.
I placed the folder on Robert Carter’s old desk.
The leather clasp opened easily.
Inside were four envelopes.
Each was labeled.
For Ava.
For Michael.
For Linda.
For Rebecca.
My stomach tightened.
Rebecca stared.
“Why am I included?”
“I don’t know.”
No one reached for an envelope.
Finally, Linda whispered, “Open yours.”
I picked up the one bearing my name.
Inside was a handwritten letter.
Dear Ava,
There is no apology sufficient for what I allowed to happen.
My first mistake was believing Robert Carter when he told me you were trying to use a pregnancy to secure money from the family.
My second mistake was agreeing to represent you while concealing that I had previously advised a company connected to Robert.
My third mistake was the worst.
I withheld information.
I stopped reading.
Michael leaned forward.
“What information?”
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