The girls looked up, their curiosity piqued by our conversation. Evelyn pulled me into a corner of the room, away from their hearing.
“What is wrong with you?” she hissed, her voice low. “They’re five years old. TheChristmas tree thingmight not mean anything to you, but this is their first Christmas away from their mother. The least we can do is try to keep some of the magic alive for them.”
Damn. She was right.
I sifted through my own childhood memories of Christmas. My father was usually absent, but my mother went all out. The house was always a spectacle of lights and decorations. Every year, she bought a massive real tree, and my brothers and I would help her decorate it. Only now, nearing thirty, did it occur to me that her over-the-top enthusiasm was probably her way of creating that very magic for us, to compensate for our father’s absence.
“I… appreciate you doing this,” I said, knowing it wasn’t her responsibility.
In fact, it should have been mine. And I hadn’t even thought of it.
“Don’t thank me,” she said curtly. “I’m not doing it for you.”
I looked back at the girls. They were laughing about something, miraculously managing to eat their cereal, play with the ornaments, and communicate in sign language all at once. When Anna spoke out loud, Aurora watched her lips intently, never missing a beat.
Watching them, I was struck by how well they got along. It sent my mind drifting back to my own childhood and the bond I shared with my brothers. Sebastian was the responsible role model, while Michael could be an infuriating pest. But I loved them both fiercely. We always had each other’s backs. And seeing Anna and Aurora together, it was clear they had the same unshakable foundation.
Anna, who was usually so sullen, underwent a complete transformation with her sister. When they were joking and chatting in their own little world, her entire demeanor lightened.
“Don’t you have to get to your lab?” Evelyn’s voice pulled me from my thoughts.
“I’m heading out now,” I said. “I can give you all a ride to wherever you’re going.”
“That’s not necessary. We can take a taxi.”
“You can take a taxi back. But since I’m leaving anyway, I don’t mind giving you a lift.”
She glanced at the girls, and I got the distinct impression that if she were alone, she would have refused without a second thought. But for their sake, she relented.
“Alright.”
And a small, unexpected flicker of happiness sparked inside me.
Chapter Sixteen
LOGAN
I dropped Evelyn and the girls off at a Christmas tree farm.
I’d assumed they would just pick up an artificial tree at a department store, but Evelyn seemed determined to do things the traditional way. The place was packed, and it was clear they’d be there a while.
At the hospital lab, I usually dove straight into work. But today was different.
Maybe it was the flood of memories from that morning, but before I knew it, I was pulling up my younger brother’s contact on my phone.
He answered within the first few rings, his voice laced with a worry that was unusual for him. “Logan? What’s wrong?”
“Why does something have to be wrong?” I asked, sinking into an armchair.
“You’re calling me. In the morning. And for the second day in a row.”
I couldn’t blame him for being shocked. I’d been keeping up with Bonnie’s condition via text—he’d send the daily update, and I’d reply with a simple ‘thanks, keep me posted.’ A phone call was out of the ordinary.
“I don’t call more because things are just hectic here,” I explained, falling back on my usual excuse. “I haven’t been seeing patients, but this research is crucial for the directorship.”
“I thought the job was already yours. You quit your job in L.A.”
Telling the whole truth would sound arrogant. I’d resigned knowing I could get my old job back anytime, and even if I couldn’t, offers from other hospitals—both here and abroad—were never a concern. I knew it would take a catastrophe for NYCH to rescind their offer; it was just a matter of bureaucracy. But the directorship would demand everything from me, and I wanted to make as much progress on my research as I could before then.
