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I reached for the ornament box closest to me, and Harry and I started sorting through them, while Jordan grabbed his own box and Mom went through another. The tension that had been prevalent since the moment we arrived seemed to disappear for a while as we all worked together. It’s a Wonderful Life played on the TV with the sound down low, and Eric made commentary about everything. But his comments also seemed to have the magical ability to make the room feel lighter, to the point I wasn’t even forcing my smile anymore.

It had been so long since I’d been able to tease and smile with my brothers, and it felt like coming home was supposed to. Like comfort, acceptance, safety.

And then Eric was telling Harry about why we don’t use tinsel anymore. He turned to Mom. “Back me up—” His words cut off as his smile slipped, and we all turned to look at her.

She was holding an ornament that I recognized instantly. It was one of the small clay handprint ornaments that we’d each made in third grade because it was Mrs. Callahan’s favorite Christmas-themed project. But only one person ever made my mom look that sad and broken. Which meant that she was holding Bryce’s handprint ornament.

Nobody moved.

Eric’s tinsel story died in his throat. Jordan went very still. And my dad’s jaw tightened as he looked down at the floor.

Harry’s warm, steady hand found my back like he knew I needed his strength.

I still remembered how proud he was of that ornament. Bryce had pressed his hand in crooked the first time because he’d been in a hurry, so Mrs. Callahan had let him start over. He’d been so proud of the second attempt. He’d even carried it home in both hands because he didn’t want it to get broken in his backpack. The second we walked in the house, he’d shown it to everyone before my mom even had a chance to hang it up.

My throat felt like it was closing.

My mom stared at it like if she stared long enough, it might bring him back. Her thumb moved slowly over the surface of it, over the ridges where his small fingers had pressed into the clay, and her lip quivered as a tear slipped down her cheek. Grief filled the room like a specter taunting us. Mom’s anguish spilled down her cheeks now in rivulets that felt like bullets straight to my gut.

I was the reason she was feeling this pain.

I did this.

It was all my fault.

Did she cry like this every year, or was it worse because her son’s killer was sitting in the room with them? Because that’s what I was to her now. Not her daughter. The person who was—and would always be—responsible for the death of her beloved son.

I couldn’t breathe.

The grief and guilt swirled through my body, trying to suffocate me until there was warmth wrapping around my hip, pulling me closer. Harry. He squeezed me closer to him and leaned down to brush another kiss to my head, like no matter what had happened, he didn’t blame me.

He might’ve been the only person in this house who didn’t.

But it was enough. I took a deep breath, and then another.

And then my mom looked up, her gaze meeting mine, and it was filled with everything I’d always feared. Anger, pain, and maybe even a little hatred. She wasn’t looking at me like I was her daughter. She was looking at me like I was her cross to bear.

Then her gaze moved to the tree, and she reached up and hung the ornament on one of the branches near the center.

“Jordan,” she said, her voice completely even. “Can you check if we have enough hooks? There should be a bunch of them in the second box on the right.”

Jordan moved. Eric didn’t say anything, which might have been the most alarming thing that had happened all morning because he’d been chattering nonstop.

Everyone went on with their tasks like the moment had never happened, and I wondered how many times they’d done this over the years, not just with Christmas memories, but any memory of Bryce. Was this why his pictures were no longer on the wall by the stairs?

If everyone else was going to pretend like it never happened, then I would too. I turned back to the box in front of me. I picked up the small ceramic snowflake and hung it on the nearest branch without really seeing it. Harry stayed beside me, his presence the only thing keeping me from shutting down completely.

My mom started unwrapping ornaments again. My dad said something to Jordan about the hooks. Eric found his voice and went back to telling another story.

Maybe I wasn’t the only one who’d spent five years pretending. Because right now it was clear that every single member of my family was pretending.

Pretending we weren’t broken.

Pretending there wasn’t an obvious void in the room.

Pretending I still belonged here when that couldn’t be further from the truth.

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