Chapter 5 - Eight Christmases Missing.
Daniel spent the next hour learning what eight years looked like when measured in things he had missed.
Sophie loved astronomy and refused to eat strawberries because she disliked the seeds.
Grace played piano badly and proudly.
Noah collected old baseball cards.
Eli could build complicated model bridges without reading the instructions.
Daniel learned these facts because Lauren quietly took the children into the living room and asked about school while the adults argued in the dining room.
She did not know whether she would still be Daniel's girlfriend tomorrow.
But she refused to let the children become furniture in an adult disaster.
Emily watched her with reluctant gratitude.
Daniel watched too.
Then he looked at the closed ring box in his hand.
The proposal he had planned felt like it belonged to another version of his life.
He placed the box in his pocket.
Patricia noticed.
“You are not going to throw away your future over this.”
Daniel stared at her.
“They are my future.”
“You do not even have proof.”
The sentence was quiet, but every child heard it.
Grace stopped talking.
Emily's face hardened.
“You know exactly what you just did.”
Patricia looked toward the children.
“I am being practical.”
Noah stood.
“Mom says we have Daniel's blood type.”
Emily closed her eyes briefly.
Noah had listened to more adult conversations than she realized.
Daniel walked toward him.
“You don't have to prove anything to me tonight.”
Patricia scoffed.
“That is irresponsible.”
Daniel ignored her.
He crouched so he was eye level with Noah.
“I want the facts because facts matter.”
“But none of this is your job to fix.”
Noah studied him.
“Then whose job is it?”
Daniel had no answer that would fit inside an eight-year-old's world.
Emily stepped in.
“The adults will handle it.”
Noah nodded, but he clearly did not believe them.
Thomas returned from his study carrying an old cardboard archive box.
“I kept business records from that year.”
Patricia stared at him.
“Why?”
“Because unlike you, I don't destroy paperwork when it becomes inconvenient.”
Daniel almost smiled, but the moment was too heavy.
Thomas placed the box on the dining room table.
Inside were old Mercer Development calendars, expense reports, and printed emails.
Daniel began sorting through them.
One calendar entry caught his eye.
September 14, eight years earlier.
Harlan - Emily C. matter - 4:00 PM.
Patricia's initials were beside it.
There were six similar entries over the next four months.
Daniel lined them up.
“This was not one conversation.”
Thomas stared at the dates.
“No.”
“This was a campaign.”
Patricia folded her arms.
“It was a problem that required management.”
Emily's voice turned cold.
“My children were never a management problem.”
Patricia opened her mouth, but Thomas stopped her.
“Enough.”
It was the first time Daniel had ever heard his father speak to Patricia that way.
Thomas picked up another sheet.
His face changed.
“What is it?” Daniel asked.
Thomas handed it over.
It was an expense reimbursement from the same year.
The payee was Martin Harlan.
The amount was $4,800.
The description read: document retrieval, mail redirection, administrative coordination.
Daniel stared at the middle phrase.
Mail redirection.
He looked at Emily's returned letters.
Then at Patricia.
“You didn't just return her mail.”
His voice was almost a whisper.
“You redirected mine.”
Patricia remained silent.
Daniel suddenly remembered that for six months after moving to Boston, nearly all of his personal mail had mysteriously gone through the Mercer corporate office.
His mother had called it a convenience while he traveled for work.
He had thanked her.
The memory made his stomach turn.
Lauren came back from the living room.
“There's something else.”
Everyone looked at her.
“Sophie says Emily sent Christmas cards every year until they were five.”
Emily nodded.
“I did.”
Lauren looked at Daniel.
“She says one came back opened.”
Patricia's face went blank.
Emily slowly pulled one final card from the bottom of her bag.
The envelope had been resealed with clear tape.
Inside the card, someone had written three words in blue ink.
Stop contacting him.
Daniel recognized the handwriting.
May you like
He had seen it on every birthday card his mother had ever given him.
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