Close to midnight, Mom brings in a tray of glasses while Dad follows with a bucket of ice and the champagne. The cork pops, and he pours carefully. Ethan hands out the nonalcoholic version for himself and Alicia, pinching her nose before passing her the glass. She complains, shoving his shoulder, and we laugh.
This is how I want to remember them.Always.
Dad raises his glass, his voice warm and gentle. “To endings,” he says, “and to the beginnings we don’t yet understand.”
We clink glasses, and for a moment, it almost feels like before.
I pull Ethan and Alicia into a tight embrace, pressing kisses to their cheeks, memorizing their warmth and the steady beat of their hearts against mine.
Next year,I promise myself.Next year will be different. We’ll be happy again.
I smile as I hug my mom and dad, letting myself hold on to the hope of a new year beginning.
Chapter 13
January
a friend of yours
Colin
I hang up the phone and set it back on my desk a little harder than necessary. Montgomery Clifford is in chaos. Numbers under review. Decisions stalling. Trust eroding by the day.
The board circles like vultures, pretending it’s about“stability”and“shareholder confidence”, when what they really want is to force my hand. They talk about restructuring. About bringing in an external executive temporarily. As if I don’t see it for what it is. A quiet coup disguised as concern.
Every conversation feels like a test. Every question is loaded. Investors want guarantees I can’t give. Projections no one could honestly stand behind in this mess. I sit through meeting after meeting, watching people who once looked to me for direction now exchange glances across the table, waiting for me to crack.
It feels like being surrounded by sharks in a glass tank. All smiles on the surface. All teeth underneath.
I barely sleep anymore.
When I close my eyes, I see spreadsheets, contracts, and faces—my team’s, my father’s, my kids’. Cecily’s. Always hers. The one I can’t seem to erase, no matter how much I try to focus on work.
At least I don’t have to deal with Maya for now.
She’s been on leave since everything came to light and isn’t due back until next week. The last time she reached out, it was just one message—a new sonogram image attached, with the words:“Our baby is growing.”I barely looked at it before blocking her number.
Christmas should’ve been a reprieve. It wasn’t.
It started like every other family gathering. My father at the head of the table, glass of whiskey in hand, pretending to be the pillar of moral authority. Until he started in on me. The criticism was relentless and precise—every word designed to remind me of how far I’ve fallen, how much I’ve tarnished the family name.
I tried to hold it together, but something in me snapped. I told him the truth. That he, my uncles, half the men on my mother’s side had done the same. Cheated. Lied. Pretended to be honorable men while leaving wives and children behind to deal with the damage. The only difference was that they were just better at pretending, lying, and covering their tracks.
He didn’t even look shaken. Just raised his glass and said,
“At least we did it right. None of us ended up the fool at the table.”
That was it for me. I stood up, left the table, left the house.
But what hurts isn’t even being the target of their criticism or jokes.
It’s my kids… the way they look at me now, the same way I used to look at my father. With indifference. Contempt.
As if I’m an obligation rather than anything else.
I've been going to the house almost every day, hoping something will shift—that maybe one night, the door will openand I’ll see a spark of recognition instead of distance. But Ethan doesn’t come down anymore. I guess he doesn’t feel the need to, not now that even his sister doesn’t want to be around me.
Alicia greeted me once with a soft“hi”before disappearing upstairs again, her footsteps fading too quickly for me to say her name.
