1
EVE
Christmas morning always looked too perfect in Mia’s living room, like the room had been staged for a photo shoot and no one had bothered to tell reality to stay out.
The tree stood in the corner near the wide front window, its lights tucked deep into the branches so the whole thing glowed from within. Ornaments that belonged to Lila’s childhood hung beside newer ones, each one chosen with care and hung with the same kind of precision Mia used when she prepped a surgical tray. Wrapping paper lay in neat piles instead of crumpled heaps. Even the ribbon curls had been gathered into a bowl on the coffee table, as if chaos needed permission before it could enter the space.
Eve sat on the far end of the sectional, a mug of coffee warming her hands, her body angled so she could see both Mia and Lila without looking like she was monitoring them. She had mastered that kind of watchfulness in trauma bays and waiting rooms. It had become a habit. It had become a language.
Lila knelt by the tree in pajama pants and a soft sweater, her hair pulled back with a clip shaped like a snowflake. She toreinto a small package with the kind of patience most adults never learned, careful with the tape, careful with the paper, as if the process mattered as much as the prize.
Mia sat cross-legged on the rug, a throw blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She smiled at Lila’s excitement, reached out now and then to steady a box or pass a tag, and said all the right things. She laughed at the right moments. From the outside, it looked like a Christmas morning that would leave a pleasant ache behind. From Eve’s seat, it looked like someone holding their breath.
Mia’s smile never reached her eyes. Not fully. Shadows sat there, stubborn and quiet, and every time Mia’s gaze drifted past the tree lights, Eve saw the flicker of distance that had become familiar over the last few days. The kind of distance that came from seeing something you could not unsee.
Lila opened a rectangular box and pulled out a sketchbook with thick, creamy paper. Her face lit. “Aunt Eve, this is the one I wanted.”
Eve’s chest loosened a fraction. “I remembered you said your other one was too thin.”
“It was like drawing on napkins,” Lila said, flipping through the pages as if she could hear the quality. Then she glanced at her mother. “Mom, did you see the tickets? Are we still going to the Christmas pageant downtown?”
Mia’s smile sharpened into place. “Of course we are.”
Lila’s shoulders lifted with relief, like she had been waiting for the answer. She loved tradition with the intensity only teenagers managed, as if the rituals were proof the world stayed in one piece.
Mia reached for the small pile of envelopes on the coffee table, thumbed through them, and drew out three tickets. “I just need to shower and change first.”
Eve looked at the clock on the mantel, then back at Mia. “You have a little over an hour.”
Mia gave a short nod, still smiling, and rose with that quiet grace surgeons carried into everything. She moved through the living room, past the tree, past the stairway, toward the hallway that led to the bedrooms.
Lila watched her go, her eyes following like she was waiting for her mother to round the corner before she could breathe.
“I’m just going to change quickly,” Lila told her. “I’ll be right back.”
Left on her own, Eve took a sip of coffee. The warmth did not reach her throat. She’d barely finished the last sip when Lila bounded back into the room dressed and ready.
She plopped down close to Eve, her voice dropping the way it did when she wanted to talk about something. The way her eye darted down the hallway, Eve knew it was about Mia.
“Aunt Eve,” Lila began. “Before Gran died, she told me about Mom’s OCD.” She glanced toward the sitting room door once again. “Since mom lost that patient…” She swallowed and looked down at her hand. “I think it’s back again.” She picked at an imaginary speck on her pants. “I read about that bicycle accident.” She looked at Eve. “The one that child had. It was… it was terrible.” Her eyes searched Eve’s as if looking for confirmation. “The news article said that there was nothing even the miracle surgeon could have done for her.”
Eve’s jaw tightened. Even now, after decades of trauma medicine, certain words could pull an image into her mind. A child. A hospital bay. A mother’s face when hope left the room.
“Your mother did everything she could,” Eve assured Lila. “Like the news said, even your mother, the miracle surgeon, couldn’t help the child.”
“Should she even have tried?” Lila asked, then felt mortified straight away. “I didn’t mean it like that…” Her cheeks started to flame, and her eyes darkened with emotion. “I mean, of course… that poor mother… I…”
“I understand, sweetheart,” Eve squeezed the young woman’s hand. “Your mother warned the girl’s parents that the chances of being able to save the young girl were slim.”
“So Mom knew and still tried anyway,” Lila asked. “It’s messed Mom up, more than she’ll admit. I’m glad you made her go on leave.”
“She did know,” Eve confirmed. “But your mother believes that there is always that slight chance.”
“Ninety-nine percent against us still leaves one percent to work with,” Lila repeated her mother’s favorite saying.
“Exactly,” Eve stated. “As long as there’s a pulse of possibility, we don’t quit.”
Lila’s gaze darted toward the hallway as she sighed resignedly. “I wish we could get out of Los Angeles for a while.” She looked back at Eve. “Maybe removing Mom from this place will remove the ghosts that are here haunting her.”
