Page 5 of The Unhinged Christmas of a Cat Lady
He shakes his head slightly. “It’s not about winning, Miranda.”
“No,” I say, “of course not. This is just the prize you get for being consistently disappointing.”
Claire clears her throat.
“Shall we move on to the next item?” she says gently.
Renata nods. She’s already turning the page.
I sit back and breathe through my nose. I don’t blink. I don’t cry. And I sure as hell don’t give Sim-Sim the satisfaction of looking broken.
But in the pit of my stomach, something folds in on itself.
It’s late afternoon by the time I get to Little Hadlow. The sun’s already losing its confidence and the air smells faintly of woodsmoke and wet leaves. November is doing its best to look poetic while everyone quietly freezes to death.
I couldn’t face going back to the flat.
Not after that.
Sim-Sim had the nerve to look relieved when I told him I’d be out for the evening. Said he’d do a father–son dinner. Pizza and Mario Kart, I expect. Bonding time, he called it.
I nodded, packed a bag, and left before I started shouting in front of SJ.
Now I’m standing on Amelia and Ben’s doorstep, bag in hand, eyes scratchy with exhaustion and fury I haven’t quite finished processing.
I press the doorbell.
Nothing.
I try again. A longer press.
Still nothing.
I glance through the frosted glass. No movement. Just a warm hallway and the faint outline of someone’s coat on the hook.
I press it a third time, this time with less patience.
The door swings open.
Ben. Shirt halfway over his head, bare legs, boxers. Tartan, obviously.
His face shifts the second he sees me.
I step forward. The tears hit before I even open my mouth.
No warning. Just full-body crying. Heat behind my eyes, throat locked, everything crumpling at once.
I don’t give him a chance to say anything. I just walk straight past him into the house where I drop my bag on the wooden floor.
Smutty appears from the living room, tail swishing, expression deeply unimpressed. He pauses in the doorway, clocks it’s me, then vanishes again without fanfare.
Ben closes the door. “Bloody hell, Miranda,” he says softly behind me. “What’s happened?”
I shake my head, uselessly. Hands braced on my knees. Breath dragging in like I’ve run a mile uphill in heels.
Everything’s shaking—or I am. Hard to tell.
“Where’s Amelia?” I manage, voice rough.
