“Come on in. It’s freezing out there.”
Trevor stepped into the foyer with heavy feet.
He didn’t take his coat off right away.
He just looked at me as if he suddenly didn’t know how to behave in the house he grew up in.
“Dinner was a disaster,” he muttered, almost talking to himself. “Sloan got into a shouting match with the server we hired. The food came out late and cold. Half the people bailed at the last minute. Everyone was just so on edge.”
I didn’t offer him cheap comfort.
I wasn’t going to tell him everything was fine.
Because it wasn’t.
Things that are forced tend to break.
“Trevor,” I said calmly. “Go wash your hands. There’s some lamb left in the kitchen. Grab a plate from the left cabinet and serve yourself.”
He nodded slowly.
He understood the message.
He was welcome here as my son.
But the days of me serving his life to him on a silver platter were officially over.
Christmas morning broke bright, clear, and bitter cold.
I woke up early, feeling a lightness in my chest that had me smiling before my feet even hit the floorboards.
When I walked into the kitchen, I stopped in my tracks.
The coffee pot was already brewing, and Trevor was standing there wiping down the counters.
He had slept in his old childhood bedroom.
“Morning,” I said, walking over to grab a mug.
“Morning, Mom,” he replied, pausing with the dishcloth in his hand.
He looked me dead in the eye, not shrinking away this time.
“I was a total jerk. I let them disrespect you and your own family, and then I expected you to foot the bill for it. I didn’t realize everything you were actually doing until you stopped doing it.”