Greg was by the fireplace adjusting the garland. He walked over slowly and took the box—and then stopped. His thumb traced the handwriting as if it carried a message only he could hear. Then he said a single word, and it drained the air from the room.
“Callie.”
That name—I hadn’t heard it in more than a decade.
“Callie.”
Greg had mentioned her once, years ago. Early in our relationship, one summer night while we lay on the grass, he told me about his college girlfriend. His first love.
The one who made him believe in forever—and then shattered that belief.
He said she ended things after graduation, without ever really explaining why. It broke him, he admitted. But meeting me, he said, showed him what real love truly was.
He’d stopped speaking to her in his early twenties and never brought her up again.
His first love.
“Why would she send something now?” I asked.
He didn’t answer. Instead, he walked to the tree and slid the box underneath it, as if it were just another present waiting for Christmas morning. But it wasn’t. I felt it instantly—the shift, the subtle crack in the space between us.
I didn’t press him. Lila was far too excited about Christmas to notice anything was wrong, and I refused to dim her joy. She’d been counting down the days on a handmade calendar, adding glitter stickers one by one. Her happiness was a fragile bubble I wasn’t willing to burst.
So I let it go. Or I pretended to.
I didn’t push.
Christmas morning arrived wrapped in familiar comfort. The living room glowed with twinkling lights, and the smell of cinnamon rolls drifted through the house. Lila had begged us to wear matching pajamas—red flannel dotted with tiny reindeer—and though Greg grumbled, he gave in, smiling for her sake.
We took turns opening presents. Lila shrieked with delight over every package—even socks—because, as she said, “Santa knows I like the fuzzy ones.” Greg handed me a silver bracelet I’d once circled in a catalog and completely forgotten about.
I gave him the noise-canceling headphones he’d been eyeing for work.
We took turns
opening gifts.
We laughed, soaking in the warmth of a moment that felt safe and familiar—until it didn’t.
Greg reached for Callie’s package.
His hands shook—noticeably. He tried to hide it, but I saw. Lila leaned closer, curious, probably assuming it was from one of us. I held my breath as he opened it.