I picture him standing in the cold earlier, watching me leave. The way he didn’t ask for more. The way he never does anymore.
“I feel bad,” I say suddenly.
Susan looks over. “About what, doll?”
“I didn’t invite Leo,” I admit. “You said he asked to come. And I didn’t… I didn’t ask him.”
Mason glances up, eyebrow raised, but stays quiet.
Susan considers it, then shakes her head gently. “He didn’t push because he respects you. That matters.”
“I know,” I say. “But still.”
I stare into the fire. “I didn’t even get him anything for Christmas.”
Susan snorts softly. “Jade. You gave that boy exactly what he wanted.”
I look at her.
“Time,” she says. “You. That’s not something you can wrap.”
Mason nods. “Yeah. What do you even buy a guy who can buy himself anything?”
Something shifts in my chest.
“You don’t,” I say quietly.
Susan smiles like she already knew where this was going.
I grab my phone.
I don’t plan it. I don’t script it. I just hit record.
The fire’s crackling behind me. My hair’s a mess. No makeup. Pajamas I swore I’d never let the internet see.
“Hey,” I say softly. “It’s Christmas. And I want to talk about forgiveness.”
I talk about the Cape. About family. About how forgiveness isn’t pretending things didn’t hurt. It’s not excusing what people did. It’s choosing not to let it own you anymore.
“I forgave people who never apologized,” I say. “Not for them. For me.”
I pause, then take a breath.
“And I also want to own something. I took my anger out on someone who didn’t deserve it. I projected pain that wasn’t his. And I’m sorry.”
My voice wobbles, but I don’t stop.
“Forgiveness isn’t just something you ask for. It’s something you give. And sometimes, the hardest person to forgive is yourself.”
I post it.
I tag everyone.
Leo.
Susan.
My parents.
