ADVERTISEMENT
Christmas was supposed to be calm this year. Quiet lights, cocoa, and the sense that my husband Ethan and I had built something solid together.
That illusion ended when his father, Derek, showed up unannounced—frail, leaning on a cane, claiming a health scare and nowhere else to go. Ethan welcomed him instantly. I smiled and did what a good wife does.
“No wonder you don’t have children,” he said once, calmly.
“My son deserves better,” he added another time.
Ethan struggled to believe me. “He’s sick,” he said. “Maybe let it go.”
But something felt deeply wrong.
Continue reading…
ADVERTISEMENT