Page 23 of Daddy's Christmas Rescue
Biscuit nosed at the box, tail thumping. I tried to laugh, but it came out thin. “You think he’d like it?” I whispered. Biscuit wagged his tail harder, like he was giving me permission. The little plastic snowflakes clinked in the box as I reached in, hands shaking a little, heart beating out of time. I picked up the strand of lights, careful not to tangle them, then lifted the wreath. The bow was faded, but the red looked cheerful against the green.
I could do this. I could make it look good. I just had to be careful. If I broke something, if I made a mess, then I’d deserve whatever came next. But if I did it right—
Maybe Blake would come home and smile.
Even if he didn't want me, so long as he smiled it would be okay.
That thought made my chest hurt. I didn’t know why I wanted it so badly. I just did.
I started with the wreath. Biscuit followed me down the hall, watching like he was waiting for me to mess up, but not in a mean way. Just…curious. I hung the wreath on the front door, using the little hook already there. The bow drooped. I smoothedit with my fingers until it looked a less sad. It still wasn’t perfect, but it looked like Christmas.
The garland was next. I tried to remember how Nana had done it, looping it over the banister, letting it drape just right. I stood back, squinting, then tried again, because the first time it was crooked. Biscuit huffed at me and I giggled, nervous, but it felt good to do something that wasn’t hiding.
The lights were harder. I had to stand on tiptoe to get them around the living room window. There was a small step stool in the pantry so I used that, careful not to fall or scuff the paint. Each bulb glowed a different color, like candy. My fingers trembled when I plugged them in, afraid they wouldn’t work. But they did. The whole window lit up, and for a minute, I just stared.
It was beautiful.
Tiny hammers and paintbrushes and a hard hat ornament went on the tree that was shoved in the bottom of the second box, still in its stand. Not a real tree, just plastic, but it felt real enough to me. I put it in the corner of the living room, next to the fireplace, and hung the ornaments so they wouldn’t tip over. There was even a star for the top. I had to stand on the stool again, but I got it balanced.
The room looked different. Not just decorated, but… alive. Like someone lived here who cared about holidays. Like maybe family might show up, even if it was just me and Biscuit and Blake.
I sat on the couch for a second, heart pounding, and tried to see it the way he would. It wasn’t perfect. Some of the garland sagged, and the lights blinked out of order, but it was homey. Warm. I hoped he’d like it.
I didn’t want to cry, but the feeling in my chest was too big. I hugged the bunny tighter and pressed my face into his ear. It was scratchy, but safe.
Biscuit jumped up beside me, nose pressed to my cheek, and I laughed, the sound leaking out before I could stop it. Biscuit gave me a look of pure dog confusion, like he didn’t understand why I needed to press my face into the bunny’s neck and not just play with him instead.
Maybe I was being silly.
But the room really did look like Christmas. Warm. Glowing. Like something out of a movie, or maybe the memory of one. I sat there on the couch, legs tucked under me, yellow blanket up to my ears, and for the first time in forever, I let myself imagine a Christmas that didn’t hurt.
I wished I could remember what it felt like to get a gift just for me. Not a “useful” thing, or something grown-up and cold, but something soft, something simple, something that meant someone had seen you and wanted you to have it. Just because.I looked down at the bunny in my arms. Maybe this was what it felt like.
Pressing his ear to my cheek I closed my eyes, breathing in the faint scent of old fabric and dust. Biscuit flopped next to me, head heavy on my knee. I stroked his fur and tried to pretend I wasn’t waiting for the sound of Blake’s truck in the driveway.But I was. Every muscle in my body was tight, like if I just sat still enough, maybe I could make everything perfect before he came home. Maybe he’d see what I’d done and… what? Smile? Tell me I was a good girl? Just look at the lights and not be disappointed.I wanted that more than anything.
I almost fell asleep right there on the couch, but Biscuit barked when the headlights swept up the drive. My heart jumped straight into my throat. I scrambled to my feet, bunny and blanket and all, and nearly tripped over the end of the rug. That would have been a disaster. I remembered to smooth the blanket and fix the star on top of the tree, just in case. I wiped my eyes. It wouldn’t do to be caught crying.
The knock on the door surprised me, and my heart thudded convinced they’d found me, but I dismissed it. I’d deliberately left anything with any sort of an ID to identify me. Not that I had any online presence. No friends.
The only person Mom and Dad ever let me be with was Vincent.
He said all the right things—that I didn’t have to be afraid of my father anymore, that he’d take care of me, that we’d leave and start somewhere new. He wore suits that smelled expensive and spoke in low, calm tones, and when he saidyou’re safe with me,I wanted so badly to believe him that I almost did.
For a while, I stopped counting bruises. For a while, I started to imagine what it might feel like to belong to someone who didn’t want to break me.
Then he started bringing me papers.
“Just signatures,” he said. “Routine stuff for the business. I want you to get familiar with how things work. You’ll be on the board one day, after all.”
I didn’t understand half of it—words likeclaim adjustment,reassessment clause,disbursement schedule.I signed where he told me to, like a good girl.
He always smiled afterward. Kissed my temple. I so wanted to make him happy.“Perfect,” he’d murmur. “You’re such a help, sweetheart.”
I didn’t know that perfection could ruin people.
A few weeks later, I was in his office—the one with the glass walls and the smell of cold coffee and printer ink. He’d left in a hurry to take a call, and I was stupid enough to open the folder on his desk. I wasn’t trying to snoop. I just wanted to see what a future away from mom and dad looked like.
The file was thick, but the top sheet was enough.A letter.
