A Christmas wish

Chapter 2

The phone call came at exactly 6:12 a.m., just as I was tying my shoes and trying to convince myself I had the energy to face another day at Brite & Britney. My phone buzzed across the table, and at first, I ignored it — no one sane calls at that hour unless someone is dying or already dead.

But when I glanced at the caller ID, my heart stopped.

Dad.

For a moment, I just stared. Seven years. Seven years of silence. Seven years since he had stood at the doorway, arms crossed, face stiff, telling me that leaving was “my choice.” Seven years since I packed everything into a single suitcase and walked out before I could change my mind. Seven years of no birthdays, no holidays, no calls, no apologies.

But today… he was calling?

My thumb hovered over the answer button. I could have let it ring out. I should have. But something in my chest — anger, curiosity, pain, I don’t know — made me swipe to answer.

“H… hello?” I managed, voice barely above a whisper.

There was a breath on the other end. A deep, shaky one. “Liam.”

My knees weakened at the sound. His voice was older, rougher, like life had worn him down over the years.

“It’s me,” I said stiffly.

A beat of silence. Then—

“Your mother… she left.”

The words hit me like a punch. I sank onto the couch, gripping the armrest. “W… what do you mean, she left?”

“She packed her things. Walked out two weeks ago. I… I didn’t know who else to call.”

A bitter laugh escaped me. “After seven years, now you call?”

“Liam,” he said, voice trembling, “I know I failed you. I know I was hard on you. Harder than I should’ve been. Your mother and I… we didn’t know how to handle everything. I didn’t know how to talk to you, how to support you. And now she’s gone and—”

“And you’re calling because you’re lonely,” I finished.

Silence again.

I rubbed my forehead, eyes stinging. “Why now, Dad? Why after all this time?”

“Because I’m sorry,” he croaked. “For everything. For how I treated you. For not protecting you. For letting you leave like that. I should have stopped you. I should have—”

“You should have loved me,” I whispered.

The silence on his end dragged, heavy and suffocating.

“I did,” he finally said, voice breaking. “I just… didn’t know how to show it.”

I felt my chest tighten. Who the hell shows love to his son by constantly hitting and scolding him? A part of me wanted to scream. Another part wanted to hang up. Another part wanted to cry. Instead, I said, “I have to go. I’m running late for work.”

“Liam—”

“I’ll call back. Maybe.” My voice cracked on the last word.

I hung up before he could say more.

For a long moment, I sat there staring at nothing. My mother was gone. My father was apologizing. Seven years of buried emotions rising all at once — anger, fear, longing, confusion. I felt drained.

And then it hit me… Elena’s challenge. One month to change my mind about leaving. One month to see if life here still had something worth holding onto.

But right then, I wasn’t sure of anything.

The drive to work felt like sleepwalking.

My hands were cold on the steering wheel, my mind looping the conversation with my father. Every red light felt like a moment to think — a terrible mistake, because my thoughts were messy and heavy.

Maybe leaving isn’t such a bad idea, I thought.

Then I remembered Elena’s face yesterday, the determination in her voice. I’ll use this one month to change your mind.

I sighed. “This deal was a terrible idea,” I muttered to myself.

Still, I drove on. The city was waking up: people rushing across streets, shop owners unlocking doors, the winter breeze biting at every exposed surface. Everything looked the same, yet somehow everything felt different.

When I reached Brite & Britney, the familiar glass doors reflected my tired face back at me.

I straightened my coat, took a deep breath, and walked in.

Immediately, I felt it.

The stares.

Not curious stares — whispering stares. The kind where people look at you, look away, then look right back. A couple of junior staff members exchanged glances when I passed them. One even nudged the other.

My stomach twisted.

Did they know about the breakup? Gossip spread quickly here.

I kept my head down and walked faster, doing my best not to snap at anyone. But the whispers followed me down the hall.

When I reached my office door, I noticed something strange: the blinds inside were slightly open. I rarely left them that way.

“Great,” I muttered. “Probably another intern looking for staplers.”

I pushed the door open.

And froze.

I swear my heart stopped. My breath caught painfully in my chest.

Because scattered across the floor — everywhere — were photos.

Photos of me and my ex. Private moments. Intimate moments. Pictures we took on vacations, at home, even some I didn’t remember taking. On the table. On the chair. Even on top of my laptop. Every one of them printed and thrown like confetti at the scene of a crime.

I staggered back, hitting the door.

What sick joke was this?

My throat went dry. “No… no, no, no.”

I crouched down and picked one up — a picture of us at a beach two years ago. I was laughing, he was kissing my cheek. My chest squeezed painfully.

I dropped it quickly, like it burned.

Another photo caught my eye — one of us in bed, sleeping, his arm thrown over me. My stomach lurched.

“Who did this?” I whispered.

Who would even have these pictures? The only copies had been on my ex’s phone. And maybe… mine, a few old backups, but nothing like this.

I swallowed hard and forced myself to move, to gather the photos and shove them onto the desk. My hands trembled so badly a few slipped through my fingers.

The whispers in the hallway suddenly made sense. Someone had seen. Someone knew.

My cheeks burned hot with humiliation.

I tried breathing slowly, but the pounding in my head grew louder. The office felt smaller, the air thinner.

My breakup was one thing. But this… this was a violation. A cruel one.

I sank into my chair, staring blankly at the wall. Tears prickled at my eyes but refused to fall. My chest tightened like I was having a panic attack.

“This isn’t happening,” I whispered. “Not today. Not after that phone call. Not now.”

But it was happening.

My father called after seven years.

My coworkers were whispering.

My private life was thrown on the floor like trash.

And suddenly, my plan to leave didn’t feel dramatic anymore. It felt like survival.

My phone buzzed, snapping me out of my spiral.

A message from Elena.

How’s my stubborn friend doing this morning? Did you eat? Don’t make me come over there.

I stared at the message for a long moment.

Then — unexpectedly — I laughed. A small, shaky sound, but it loosened the knot in my chest.

Maybe today was a disaster.

Maybe life was tearing open wounds I thought had healed. My heart was beating faster than I expected, and I felt weak.

But Elena… Elena was still here. Still fighting for me. Even when I couldn’t fight for myself.

I typed back:

You won’t believe the kind of morning I’m having. Call me at 5?

I set my phone down, stared at the pile of photos again, and took a deep breath.

This was going to be a long day.

A long month.

But maybe… this chaos was the beginning of something else. Something I didn’t see coming yet.