Chapter 33 Hillary
HILLARY
The glow of her small Christmas tree flickered across the living room, casting warm light. White Christmas played softly from the TV, Bing Crosby’s voice filling the otherwise quiet house.
Hillary sat curled on the couch, laptop balanced on her knees, half her attention on a proposal.
Work never stopped, not for holidays, not for family, not even for her own exhaustion.
She’d spent the morning with Sydney, exchanging gifts and lingering over brunch, but now her sister was on call at the hospital.
Which left Hillary alone, chasing productivity in the dim glow of twinkling lights.
The knock at the door startled her.
Her head snapped up, heart jumping. It was already after nine. No one came by unannounced at this hour. Unless . . .
She set her laptop aside and stood, smoothing her sweater with nervous hands as she crossed to the door. Her pulse quickened with every step, a strange mix of dread and hope twisting together.
She knew who it might be.
And when she opened the door, she was right.
Murphy stood on her porch, shoulders hunched against the cold, snowflakes clinging to his hair. His cheeks were pink from the wind, his breath puffing out in the freezing night.
And he was looking at her like she was the only thing that mattered.
Her heart stopped.
“Can I come in?” Murphy asked, his breath still fogging in the cold.
She stepped back, opening the door wider. He stomped the snow from his shoes before crossing the threshold, the small courtesy somehow making her chest ache.
Her eyes flicked over him as he shrugged out of his coat.
He wore jeans and a dark sweater that clung in all the right places.
She was so used to him in perfectly tailored game-day suits or the constant athletic gear of his job.
But here, in her living room, he just looked like a guy.
A guy far too handsome for his own good.
Murphy’s gaze drifted around the room, to the modest tree, the laptop still glowing on the couch, the quiet hum of White Christmas from the TV. His expression softened into something almost sad.
“This is how you spend Christmas?”
She folded her arms, defensive before she even realized it. “No. Sydney was here this morning.”
He nodded at that, like it was something he needed to hear, relief flickering across his features.
Silence stretched between them, the glow of the tree throwing shadows across his face.
“What are you doing here, Murphy?” she asked finally, her voice softer than she meant it to be.
He didn’t answer right away. He just looked at her, eyes steady, like there was too much to say and none of it simple. The weight of everything unsaid filled the room, pressing in tight.
Her heart thudded hard against her ribs.
“How was your Christmas?” she asked, her voice carefully even.
Murphy’s shoulders lifted in a small shrug.
“It was good. Quiet. Just family stuff.” His tone was light, but she caught the way he held back, smoothing over the edges.
She knew him well enough to tell there was more he wasn’t saying.
He was leaving out stories about his brother, or his mom, or the kind of holiday warmth she’d never grown up with.
But he didn’t share them. Not with her.
And that hurt in a way she didn’t expect.
The silence between them stretched again, heavy with everything they weren’t saying.
Finally, Murphy looked at her, his eyes shining as he blinked back the emotion gathering there. “What happened, Hillary? Why are you pushing me away?”
The words hit her like a punch, stealing her breath.
“I’m not pushing you away,” she said quickly, her voice sharper than she intended. “I told you from the beginning that this was nothing serious.”
Murphy’s jaw clenched, but his eyes stayed soft, steady on hers. “You don’t believe that. You know it changed.” He stepped closer, just enough to make her chest tighten. “We both felt it, Hillary. Last time . . . you can’t tell me it didn’t mean anything.”
Her lips parted, ready with a protest, but her traitorous eyes blurred with tears. She turned her face away, trying to blink them back. “It’s too hard,” she whispered, barely audible.
The words seemed to stop him cold. His breath hitched, his hand twitching at his side like he wanted to reach for her but didn’t dare. “What do you mean?” he asked softly.
And then, the dam broke.
“I mean this,” she said, her voice shaking.
“You and me. We want different things. We’re in different places, from different worlds.
You grew up in warmth and laughter, and I—” She swallowed hard.
“I didn’t. We don’t fit. We can’t fit. It would never work, and it’s better to stop it now before it gets worse. ”
Murphy shook his head immediately, desperation in his eyes. “Hillary, none of that matters. Age, where we come from, or what we’ve been through, doesn’t change how I feel about you.”
She pressed a trembling hand to her chest, as if she could hold her heart in place. “It does matter. You think it doesn’t, but it does. It matters more than anything. And I can’t let you throw your life away on something doomed from the start.”
Her words hung heavy between them, final and cruel only because they came from a place of truth she couldn’t ignore.
Murphy shook his head, confusion etched into every line of his face. “I don’t get it. Okay, maybe I wasn’t raised with the money you were, but I have it now. I can take care of you, Hillary.”
Her stomach dropped. “Oh, God. No, Murphy.” She pressed a hand to her temple, voice breaking. “That’s not what I’m saying.”
His eyes searched hers, desperate.
“You’re too good for me,” she whispered. “You deserve more than I could ever give you.”
He stepped toward her, instinct driving him to reach for her, to hold her. But when she flinched, he froze instantly, hands falling uselessly to his sides. His pleading eyes locked on hers, and his voice came out raw.
“Is this really what you want?”
Her throat closed around the lie. She nodded, because it was all she could do.
They stood in the hush of her living room, the only sound the faint hum of White Christmas still playing on the TV. Neither moved, like breaking the moment would make it real.
Finally, Murphy’s voice cracked. “Can I at least hug you?”
She couldn’t speak. She just nodded.
And then he was there, wrapping her up, holding her like he couldn’t let go. She buried her face in his chest, hot tears threatening to spill. But with a deep breath, she locked them away.
“I don’t understand,” he whispered into the crown of her head.
And there was nothing she could say. Nothing that would make it easier, nothing that would make it hurt less. So she held him tighter, knowing this would be the last time she let herself.
She gave him one final squeeze, memorizing the feel of him in her arms, before pushing him gently back. “You should go.”
Murphy’s eyes searched hers, desperate, as if he could will her to change her mind. But she wouldn’t. She couldn’t. If it hurt this much now, it would only get worse if they let it drag on.
This was what they needed. A clean break. No more messing around.
Finally, his shoulders slumped. “Okay. If that’s what you want.”
He slipped his shoes back on, shrugged into his coat, and lingered for half a heartbeat longer before saying softly, “Merry Christmas, Hillary.”
Then he was gone.
The moment the door clicked shut, the tears she’d been holding back spilled free. She collapsed onto the couch, pressing her forehead to her knees, sobs shaking her shoulders. Through the blur, she turned toward the window, her breath catching as she watched him cross the yard.
He walked slowly, shoulders hunched against the cold, every step pulling him further away from her.
Her chest clenched. He might have been the best thing to ever happen to her, but that was exactly why she had to let him go. She would not be the reason he didn’t have the life he deserved.
She watched as he slid into his car. The headlights flicked on, bathing the snow in a pale glow. She braced herself to see him drive away.
But he didn’t.
His head dropped forward, resting against the steering wheel. He just sat there, shoulders trembling, for a long, unbearable moment.
Her throat burned, tears streaking down her face as she flattened herself against the couch, trying not to look.
Finally, she risked a glance. Murphy sat up, swiped at his face, and turned his gaze back toward the house.
Panic spiked. She quickly lay down flat on the couch, heart pounding, praying he couldn’t see her through the window.
By the time she sat back up, his taillights were glowing red in the distance, fading into the night.
Gone.