mia
I sit across from my mother, my hands twisting anxiously in my lap. Her gaze is on me—sharp, knowing, concerned. She has always been able to read me, even before I learned to read myself. Tonight is no different.
She knows something is wrong.
I try to swallow the knot in my throat. How am I supposed to tell her? How do I explain Damon, the divorce, the new man, and the fact that the only place I have left to go is her home—a house I’ve avoided for months because it hasn’t felt like mine since she got sick?
After tonight’s dinner, I won’t be going back to Damon. And the truth is terrifying: I have nowhere else to go. Mom’s house is my last safe place, and even that feels haunted by memories waiting to ambush me during Christmas.
“Mia,” she says softly, her fingers brushing over min
