Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
ALLEY
The smell of wassail fills the air, grounding me in familiarity—in tradition. My hands wrap around the warm mug, a smile pulling at my lips as I watch the complete and utter chaos of excitement unfold before me.
I’ve spent a lot of Christmas Eves with Michael, but this is the first at his house with Stella and the kids.
My dad’s here too. I haven’t spent Christmas with him in fifteen years.
Watching the kids unwrap their gifts from me and Grandpa masks the ache in my chest, the feeling that something’s missing.
The wassail is the only thing that feels the same.
Christmas Eve was always spent at Jensen’s parents’ house—playing games and laughing until it hurt.
Last year, though, the laughter was minimal.
There was tension with his mom, and unspoken awkwardness.
No one really knew how to act around him.
He was there… until he wasn’t. But Matt, Megan, and the rest of the family did their best to make up for it.
I’m trying hard not to think about it—that Jensen’s there right now, playing charades, having fun, living life.
And then he goes and sends my favorite bagels and coffee to the house this morning with a note that said, Thanks for the text. Hope the bagels aren’t stale.
It was sweet. It even made me smile, then cry. But it doesn’t erase anything. I’ve had to crawl through the fire to get where I am—scarred, bruised.
Bagels can’t undo the damage that’s been done. Even when your heart’s breaking. Even when someone still loves you. Even when you still love him.
Life just goes on.
There’s something both peaceful and terrifying about that—knowing everyone has their own lives. Their own grief and joy. Their own challenges. We all live at the center of our own universe, with people and moments spinning in and out of orbit.
People come and go. Jobs change. Tragedies happen. All the while, you’re just sitting in the middle of it, realizing maybe you don’t matter as much as you thought you did.
Sometimes you stay in someone’s orbit for years. Sometimes it’s just a season. But eventually, everyone leaves, and they move on—whether you’re there or not.
Savannah, Michael’s oldest, who’s seven, screams with joy as she opens her gift from me—a gymnastics set with a matching leotard from the American Girl store. She recently got into American Girl dolls and just made the competitive gymnastics team.
She runs over and throws her arms around my neck. “Thank you, Alley.”
I squeeze her, the simple act nearly bringing me to tears. I needed that.
“Ah, you’re welcome, sweet girl.”
I had the best time shopping for it. The American Girl store in Chicago is huge. Being there brought back so many nostalgic memories—me and my mom shopping for my Samantha doll, then having tea together for my birthday.
Savannah disappears into her room and comes back with a doll, immediately stripping it down to put on the new leotard. I watch her, awestruck. The weight of sadness begins to lift, and I let out a laugh. A real laugh. No alcohol. No pretending. Just joy.
My dad’s hand falls to my knee with purpose, giving it a squeeze. He grins at me, and I can’t help but smile as I look around the room, my heart suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude for the love and support surrounding me.
And for the first time in a long time, I think I’m going to be okay.
I can do this.
I finish up the last of the dishes just as my dad walks down the stairs after saying goodnight to the grandkids. Michael and Stella are tag-teaming bedtime duty, so I’ve been cleaning up the mess left behind in the kitchen.
Michael cooked an incredible dinner, as usual—prime rib with butternut squash and a salad that tasted like it came straight from a Michelin-starred restaurant.
My dad pulls out a barstool and slides into it, settling opposite me at the sink. I grab a pot and towel it dry, watching him.
“What?” I ask, giving him a sly smile.
“Hmm?”
“What’s on your mind? I can tell you want to say something.”
“Oh…” He sighs, folding his hands. “Just thinking about how lucky we are.”
I pause mid-dry, raising an eyebrow. “Dad. Come on. Spit it out.”
He’s quiet for a moment, his eyes turning misty. He swallows. “I’m just…” His gaze finds mine. “I’m really proud of you.”
Damn. A fresh sting burns behind my eyes.
Setting the pan down, I grip the counter and take a deep breath through my now runny nose. The tears fall freely as I choke out, “Thanks, Dad.”
He offers a small smile. “It’s hard. What you’re doing. It takes a lot of strength to walk away from someone you care about. Someone you love.” His voice is steady, strong, even as the emotion lingers in his expression.
My next breath is shaky, my chest and shoulders trembling. I nod, too overwhelmed to respond.
His gaze drops to his hands. “You know, you remind me so much of her,” he says quietly. He blinks rapidly, his eyes locking on mine. “Your mother.”
With that, everything spills out—messy and free.
The past fifteen years of missing my mom.
The twelve I wasted hiding from my dad. The ache of the last four months missing Jensen.
The guilt—for leaving him, for giving up.
The overwhelming sadness that sits in my chest every single day when I think about everything I’ve lost. Everything I let go of.
It’s not just my marriage.
It’s losing my best friend. My person. The job I left, the friends I never see, the future I thought was mine. The kids we’ll never have. The names I’d picked out, and what they might’ve looked like.
God, it’s so heavy.
“But she was stronger than I was,” I whisper. “She stayed when things got hard. When you went off on your benders. She stayed.”
He lets out a sound—part laugh, part something else. “Oh, Alley girl… I think that made her weaker.” He shakes his head slowly. “She should have left. Long before she got sick. You all would’ve been better off if she had.”
My brows pull together, scowling. “That’s not true.”
But deep down, I wonder if he’s right. “Maybe it would’ve been better for us then.” A small smile tugs at my lips as I blink through the tears. “But where would I be without you now?” I whisper. “And where would you be if she had left?”
“Nah. You’d be fine without me. You’ve always been strong. Independent.”
“But what about you?” I ask again.
“The truth?”
“Of course,” I say without hesitation.
He lets out a long breath, eyes distant. “No telling where I’d be. Probably lost at the bottom of a bottle. Barely breathing. That’s the truth of it.”
His words hit me like a freight train. I immediately think of Jensen—how Matt said he spiraled worse than ever after I left. How that still feels like my fault, even though I know it’s not.
My dad interrupts my thoughts. “Or maybe I would’ve gotten sober and stayed that way.
” He smiles softly. “Hard to know what losing your family might do to a man. I’m sure I’d have gotten worse before I got better, that’s for certain.
But I like to think, eventually, I’d have ended up right here. Sober. Happy. With my family again.”
He clears his throat. “I was a lost cause for a long time. Whether you were there or not, I had to hit rock bottom on my own. I had to lose everything, then claw my way out of the hell I’d created to find the light again.”
He lets out a heavy exhale. “Either way, I’m right where I’m supposed to be. And you are too. Doesn’t matter which road we take. One might be rougher—more lessons, more bruises—but you come out smarter, stronger. I think we end up where we’re meant to. Fate always finds you.”
I smile as his words settle in.
We had a scare with Dad a few months ago, the same night I left Jensen. He ended up in the hospital with liver issues—his ammonia levels were high, and his liver enzymes were through the roof. The doctors said they caught it early, but he’s still at risk for complications.
Ever since, he’s been different. More open. Nostalgic. Sentimental.
“I guess I’ve never really thought of it that way,” I say somberly.
“I used to believe everything happened for a reason… until Mom died.” I pick up another pan to dry, needing the distraction.
“I can’t find a reason for that. And now Jensen?
” I shake my head. “I can’t find a purpose for that either.
Except maybe the universe just really hates me. ”
He nods slowly, fingers laced in front of him.
“I used to think that too, that pain had to have a purpose.” His voice drops, low and thoughtful.
“Not everything happens for a reason. But everything that happens can become one, if we let it. We don’t choose the cards we’re dealt—just how we play them. ”
He swallows. “You’ve been dealt some bad hands in life.
” He frowns, nodding slowly, then meets my gaze.
“But you’ve always been good at poker.” His lips curve, pride shining in his eyes.
“You’ve always known how to play a losing hand better than most, Alley girl.
Look around you. You’re winning. Every day, you’re winning. And I couldn’t be more proud of you.”
With that, he pushes away from the counter and walks toward me. His words—God, his words—crack me open in the best possible way. I melt into his arms, wrap mine around him tight, and let myself break. Let myself just be, present, aware, and okay with where I am.
I’ve never been more grateful to Jensen for helping me reconnect with my dad.
A small smile tugs at my lips, the taste of salt lingering from my tears.
Maybe fate found me after all.
I flip off the light at the top of the stairs. The tree glows in the corner, lighting up the living room in soft gold. The rest of the house is quiet and dark. Leo and Vivian are gone this week for Christmas, and I never stopped to think about what that meant for me—for my Christmas morning.
I drop my bag of gifts by the stairs and walk to the couch.
Sinking into the cushions, I take in the holiday decor—the tree, the nativity on the mantel, the stockings over the fireplace.
Vivian insisted on hanging one for me. It was a sweet gesture.
But looking at it now, I realize there’s no one here to fill it.
No one to have coffee with by the fire. No one to watch open gifts.
A pang of sadness squeezes my chest. It hits all at once, how empty it feels. How alone I really am. Maybe I should’ve stayed at Michael’s. I’m going back over in the morning anyway. I shift to the side, pull my feet up onto the couch, and drape a blanket over my lap, eyes fixed on the tree.
My phone buzzes from inside my purse. My brows knit—it’s past midnight, and Michael and Stella were headed to bed when I left. I dig it out, and my breath catches when I see the name on the screen.
Jensen.
I press the side button automatically, a natural reaction to stop the vibration. My grip tightens around it, heart racing as I stare at the name. I debate what to do with the few seconds I have left to decide. Why is he calling?
I know I should send it to voicemail, but I don’t want to. I want to hear his voice. Want to hear my name on his lips. Want to not feel so alone.
I tell myself something could be wrong, that it might be important. Why else would he call? And before I can talk myself out of it, my thumb slides across the screen.
I bring the phone to my ear, breath shaky. “Hi.” It’s barely audible, barely a voice at all.
“Hey, Al.”
Silence. Just the ache. Just the hurt. Tension, somehow felt through this tiny device.
“I’m surprised you picked up. Glad you did, but… surprised.”
My eyes close, letting the sound of his voice wrap around me like the hug I so desperately need. Oh my God, I miss him so much.
I don’t know what to say. I could spill everything, talk to him, let him make it better like he always has. But instead, because I feel my resolve weakening, I hear myself say, “Why are you calling, Jensen?”
“I don’t know, I just…” He goes quiet for a moment. “Wanted to hear the sound of your voice. I thought you’d send me to voicemail.” He lets out a soft, broken chuckle. “Figured I’d hear your message telling me you’d call me back, and try to believe it.”
My lips quiver, the emotion creeping in so fast my next breath shudders—loud enough to notice.
“And I wanted to apologize.” His voice cracks. “For last year. When I left you at my parents’. I didn’t realize—didn’t even know I did that until yesterday. God…” The words strain, his composure slipping.
He doesn’t say anything else, and I know it’s because he can’t. He’s too emotional. We both sit there, miles apart, listening to the sound of our pain in every breath.
He finally sniffs, then says quietly, “Anyway, I just needed you to know that. You deserved better.”
“I did,” I choke out. “And I still do.”
“I’m not that man anymore, Alley. Please. Give me a chance.”
A chance. Like he hasn’t had dozens of them.
I need to end this call—because if I don’t, I’ll slip. I’ll give in. I feel it, the pull in my heart and my mind that wants to run to him. That wants to say, It’s okay. I still love you.
I’ve come too far and cried too many tears for it all to be for nothing.
“I have to go,” I say quickly. “Thank you for the apology. And for the bagels and coffee.”
“Alley—”
“Merry Christmas, Jensen.” I hang up, dropping the phone in my lap. I sink deeper into the couch, letting the cracks of my pain bleed. Letting the tears soak my cheeks. I stare at my initial on the stocking above the fireplace, the lights flickering in the distance, and let the silence haunt me.
Numb me.
Until I fall asleep.