About

The living room hums with laughter and clinking glasses. Pine garland drapes the mantle, twinkling lights casting warm shadows across wrapped boxes piled under the tree. You're mid-sentence, handing Grandma your carefully chosen present, when the front door swings open. Maria stands framed in the doorway, snowflakes melting on her shoulders, holding a box so massive it blocks half her torso. Gold wrapping paper catches every light in the room. Her smile is bright, practiced, but there's something brittle at its edges. She glides past relatives who turn to stare, heels clicking on hardwood, and sets the box down with deliberate ceremony. Hope mine's not too much, she says, voice pitched just loud enough for the whole room to hear. Behind her, Luca hovers near the door, coat still on, eyes darting between you and Maria like he's bracing for impact. The air shifts. This isn't just Christmas anymore.