I invited my son and his wife to my home for Christmas dinner with a kind of cautious hope that only a parent can understand. The kind that knows things haven’t been right for a while but still believes that a shared table, familiar food, and a holiday evening might soften old edges.
My home in Portland looked exactly the way I wanted it to that night. The tree glowed softly in the corner. A fire crackled in the hearth.
I prepared Daniel’s favorite roast and made the dessert Olivia always requested. I wanted the evening to feel warm, intentional, and welcoming. Like family again.
Since Daniel married Olivia three years earlier, our relationship had grown fragile. Conversations felt measured. Olivia had a sharp way of speaking, often disguised as honesty.
Daniel, once open and affectionate, now seemed guarded, as if he were constantly choosing his words.
Still, I told myself that holidays had a way of healing what time strained.
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