Then the front door opened.
But only halfway.
Daniel stood in the doorway.
The moment he recognized me, his expression changed.
“Mom?” he said quietly.
I smiled.
“Merry Christmas, sweetheart. I brought some dinner and gifts for the children.”
He didn’t smile back.
Behind him, Claire appeared holding a glass of wine.
When she saw me, her expression immediately hardened.
Daniel stepped outside and pulled the door almost completely shut behind him.
“You shouldn’t have come,” he whispered.
I stared at him.
For a moment, I thought he was joking.
“What do you mean?”
He avoided my eyes.
“I didn’t invite you.”
The words hurt more than the freezing wind.
I glanced toward the window.
Everyone else seemed to be inside.
Claire’s parents were there.
Other relatives were there.
My grandchildren were there.
I had assumed I would be welcome at my own son’s Christmas celebration.
Before I could respond, a child’s voice called from inside.
“Dad, who’s at the door?”
Daniel turned slightly.
“Wrong house,” he answered.
I felt my heart sink.
Wrong house.
