Christmas Betrayal

Snow fell in slow, lazy spirals outside the apartment building, catching the glow of streetlamps and twinkling like glitter shaken over the night itself. It was Christmas Eve—Aisha’s favorite night of the entire year—and for the first time since she met Daniel, she was determined to make it perfect. Her arms ached from carrying the bags: a box of homemade gingerbread cookies she’d stayed up until 3 a.m. decorating, fairy lights, his favorite peppermint hot chocolate mix, and a handmade scrapbook filled with memories from their relationship. The scrapbook was her favorite part. Each page had doodles, handwritten notes, ticket stubs from their dates. She’d even left a blank page at the end with the words “Our future starts here.” She’d been smiling all day—one of those warm, glowing smiles that hummed beneath the skin. Daniel had said he’d be busy all evening. “Deadlines,” he’d claimed. “Work stuff. I’ll be home late, babe. Just sleep early and I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” And Aisha, sweet, trusting Aisha, had believed him. Believed every excuse he tossed her way, because she loved him and never imagined a reason not to. Still, she wanted tonight to be a surprise. She had convinced his landlord to let her into his apartment early, explaining breathlessly that she wanted to decorate the living room before he came home. “It’s Christmas,” she’d said. “I want to show him how much he means to me.” The landlord, touched by her sincerity—and perhaps recognizing the youthful earnestness in her eyes—handed her the spare key. Now, standing in front of Daniel’s door, her heart fluttered with excitement. She imagined turning on the lights, kneeling beside the sofa to plug them in, and hearing Daniel walk in, stunned and grateful. She imagined him pulling her into his arms and whispering, “I can’t believe you did all this for me.” She imagined love, commitment, warmth. She imagined a future. Aisha turned the key and pushed open the door. For a moment, everything looked normal. The familiar scent of Daniel’s cologne drifted through the air. His coat hung messily by the entrance, shoes kicked off like always. She stepped inside quietly, not wanting to ruin the surprise. Her fingers tightened around the bag handles. Maybe she’d start with the lights—string them around the window, then place the cookies on the table— A sound froze her in place. A faint, breathy giggle. A woman’s giggle. Followed by a low, playful voice that was unmistakably Daniel’s. Aisha’s heart stalled. No. No, she must have misheard. He wasn’t supposed to be home. And certainly not with someone. She took a trembling step forward, her breath trapped somewhere between her ribs and throat. The sound came again—this time louder—and from behind his bedroom door, which was slightly ajar. Her hand shook violently as she reached toward it. For a moment, she stood there, paralyzed, warm tears already prickling her eyes even before the truth confirmed itself. Her mind whispered: Don’t open it. Don’t look. But her heart—broken, confused, terrified—needed the truth. She pushed the door open. The world collapsed. Daniel was in bed with another woman, their limbs tangled in a way Aisha knew too well—too painfully. Clothes scattered across the floor. Sheets pushed down. Pillow askew. The woman gasped and scrambled to cover herself. Daniel’s head jerked up, eyes going wide, disbelief flashing across his face before morphing into irritation. “Aisha? What the hell are you doing here?” he snapped. Aisha’s voice came out shredded, barely recognizable. “I… I wanted to surprise you. I—I thought you were working tonight.” Daniel scoffed and ran a hand through his messy hair as if she were the inconvenience. “Seriously? You can’t just show up like this. You’re always… hovering. It’s suffocating.” Her vision blurred, tears spilling freely. “Hovering? Daniel, I—” she gestured weakly at the bag in her hand “—I just wanted to do something nice. It’s Christmas Eve…” He rolled his eyes. “God, Aisha, do you really not get it? Look at yourself. You’re always trying so hard. Too hard. It’s pathetic.” The words hit like shrapnel. Her breath hitched. “But I thought— I thought you loved—” “Maybe I would if you weren’t so damn needy,” he cut in sharply. “You’re just… not enough. Not exciting enough. Not confident enough. Not anything enough.” Each word was a blade, carving deeper into her. The woman in his bed stared down at the sheets, pretending to be invisible. Aisha’s fingers went numb, and the bag slipped from her hand, landing with a soft thud. Gingerbread cookies spilled across the floor, sliding beneath the bed. Tiny stars of frosting shattered on the wood. She stared at them blankly—those cookies she’d crafted so carefully, so lovingly—and something inside her cracked, then crumbled entirely. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, even though she shouldn’t have been. Even though he should have been apologizing. “I’m… I’m so sorry.” Daniel sighed, annoyed. “Just—get out. We’ll talk later.” But she knew they wouldn’t. There was nothing left to say. She turned away, her body heavy, her chest hollow. Each step felt like wading through wet cement. She didn’t look back. Couldn’t. The moment she crossed the threshold, a sob tore out of her and she covered her mouth with her hand to stifle it. The cold night air hit her like a slap as she stumbled outside. Christmas lights twinkled cheerfully across the street, but everything felt wrong—too bright, too warm, too alive. She had come to give him the perfect Christmas Eve surprise. But instead, she walked away shattered, questioning every choice she’d made, every excuse she’d believed, every part of herself he said wasn’t enough. And for the first time in her life, Christmas Eve felt unbearably, crushingly cold.