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As he spoke, Devra was drawn back there, the memory pulled free from where it had been buried. She could see the twinkling lights on the tree, not as a hazard but as a source of excitement highlighting the presents below. She could smell the freshly baked shortbread cookies, not burning in the oven but sitting out for Santa to enjoy.

“We walked downstairs to find the house covered in mouse droppings, the gifts nibbled into, the stockings torn, and we…just laughed. Do you remember that? I think your mother led the contagious giggles. She was good at that, bringing laughter into our home, back before the hard times became so frequent that she stopped laughing altogether, and it all became so…complicated.”

Her mother’s voice, light and airy. She could hear it now. Not the affected, performative tone she’d heard yesterday but a more honest one.

“The four of us pulled together against the disappointment and decided to make Christmas our own, even without the food, the trimmings, the trappings. When did we forget how to do that? When did we—?” He batted the sentence away. “The plain truth is, I forgot there were any good Christmases.”

“Maybe we forced ourselves to forget,” Devra said. “Maybe remembering how good it could be only made the bad feel that much worse.” Their misery a shield from further disappointment.

Frederick sidled up between his daughter and son. “But I remember now.”

“What happened next?” Bradley urged.

“Well, throughout the day, we discovered more things being ruined. Suddenly there’d be pawprints in the food we set out or another package gnawed into. So we went on a hunt, determined to capture the little gremlin trying to ruin our Christmas. We turned it into a game, a friendly competition. Who could catch the Christmas culprit first? We laid traps.”

“Mousetraps?” Bradley said.

“That’s right. The kind with the little metal bar that snaps down when stepped on.”

Devra gasped. “The fortune teller at the mall. Do you remember, Bradley, what she said about my past?”

He nodded. “I hear scratching. Hunger. A snap! A shriek.”

“No. She didn’t say shriek. She said squeak. Squeak.”

“Are you sure? She said squeak?”

“Yes! I remember because I had to bite my tongue to stop from laughing.” She was laughing now, giddiness bubbling from her in hiccups and giggles. A vengeful spirit. Was it possible? The one possibility they’d dismissed so readily? And yet it seemed to fit. “Then Adele made that noise. Do you remember? Eeeeeeeek. It sounded so ridiculous at the time. But now…”

“’Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house, not a creature was stirring, except for a mouse.”

“What?”

“Just something I heard at the mall,” Bradley said. “And did you catch it? The mouse?”

“We sure did.” Frederick clapped his hands. “I remember the snap as the bar came down on that tiny bastard’s neck.”

“And who laid the trap?” Bradley asked.

Frederick glanced at Devra and then down to the floor. “Can’t say for sure. It was so long ago.”

But his lie was transparent as another memory wiggled free: her on Papa’s shoulders as he galloped around, celebrating her big win.

“I did,” she said. “I set the trap.” But the confession didn’t strike like a bullet. It felt like a step forward, with her inching closer to escape. She whispered, “Something taken that wasn’t yours to take.”

“An anger let loose,” Bradley continued.

“This has to be it.” Devra wanted to scale the walls and scream it from the rooftop. “An origin story.”

“Wait a second here. Hold on.” David waved his hands. “Hold on, for one single second. A fortune teller at the mall told you this? You think you’ve solved our decades-old curse because of something you heard at the mall?”

“Our curse?” Devra questioned.

“Whoever’s curse, it doesn’t matter.” David bumped her with his elbow. “It never mattered. Like I said. We are all in this together, sis. Always have been.”

Devra’s heart swelled. She clutched her brother’s hand before taking her father’s hand too. Papa interlaced his fingers with David’s to form a circle, then gave Devra’s palm a squeeze. His grip was strong. Surprisingly strong. She found herself looking at him and really seeing him, not as a sick man, frail and vulnerable, but as a resilient man who had survived a heart attack. Papa was living with heart disease, not dying from it. And every day he remained on his feet was a blessing, weeks that should be spent in celebration, not fear.

The three of them stood side by side. A united force. Except…someone was missing.