Christmas morning had always followed a familiar rhythm in our home—soft music, warm cinnamon rolls, and our daughter Lila’s quiet excitement as she opened gifts in her pajamas. Greg and I had been married for twelve years, and while our life wasn’t extravagant, it was steady and full of shared routines. We believed in trust, in showing up for each other, and in protecting the simple joy we had built as a family. That morning began no differently, until Greg reached for a small package addressed to him in handwriting I didn’t recognize. The moment he saw it, something in his expression shifted, as if a door to the past had suddenly opened. Continue reading…
