At least, that was what I believed until Christmas Day when the world I knew crumbled to pieces.
“Andrea, I need to tell you something,” Shawn began, nervously tapping his fingers on the kitchen counter. “My boss called. I need to go to Boston for an unexpected client emergency.”
“During Christmas?” I asked, my eyes widening in disbelief.
“You’ve never had to travel on Christmas before,” I said, curling my hands around my coffee mug for warmth. “Isn’t there someone else who can handle it?”
“I promise I’ll make it up to you. We’ll celebrate our own Christmas together when I get back.”
I attempted a smile, but I couldn’t shake the heavy disappointment in my chest. “When are you leaving?”
“Tonight. I’m so sorry, honey.”
As I helped Shawn pack that evening, I was overwhelmed by memories of us together. His smile was a little off, shadowed with an apology. “I’m really sorry about this trip, darling.”
“I understand,” I sighed, sitting on the bed’s edge. “Christmas just won’t be the same without you.”
I leaned on his shoulder, asking, “Promise you’ll call?”
“Every chance I get. I love you,” he assured.
“Love you too.”
Something nagged at the back of my mind as I watched him drive away.
But I dismissed it. After all, it was Shawn, the man I trusted most. Shawn called about 9 p.m., and my phone buzzed excitedly in my hand.
“Merry Christmas, beautiful,” he said, his voice oddly tense.
“Merry Christmas! How’s Boston going? Is the client sorted out?” I inquired.
“It’s… uh… good. Listen, I can’t really talk right now. I have to go—”
“Emergency meeting!” he shouted abruptly, ending the call.
I stared at my phone, my hands trembling. An emergency meeting at 9 p.m. on Christmas Eve? The background sounded like a restaurant. None of it felt right.
Then I remembered my fitness tracker. I had left it in his car after our trip to the grocery store. With shaky hands, I opened the app on my phone.
Shawn’s car wasn’t in Boston. It was parked at a hotel in our city, merely 15 minutes from home.
A hotel? Here? On Christmas Eve?
Was he seeing someone else? Had my whole marriage been a lie?
“No,” I whispered to myself. “No, no, no.”
Without a second thought, I jumped into my car, driving straight to the hotel.
I found Shawn’s silver car parked conspicuously as soon as I arrived.
My hands were shaking as I walked into the lobby, my heart pounding so loudly I thought it might burst.
The receptionist smiled professionally at me. “Can I help you?”
“This man is my husband. Which room is he in?”
She hesitated. “Ma’am, I’m not supposed to—”
“Please, I have to know,” I implored, desperation in my voice. “He said he was in Boston, but his car is outside. Please… I need to know what’s going on.”
“Room 412,” she finally whispered, sliding a keycard across the desk. “But miss? Things aren’t always as they seem.”
I hardly heard her as I made my way to the elevator.
Room 412. I didn’t even knock. I just swiped the keycard and stormed in.
“Shawn, how could you—”
The words died in my mouth.
There was Shawn, standing next to a wheelchair.
And seated in that wheelchair was a man with silver-streaked hair and eyes I hadn’t seen since I was five.
“DADDY?” The word slipped as a whisper, too fragile to be true, yet a question I’d held for 26 years.
“ANDREA!” My father exclaimed, his voice trembling. “My little girl.”
“How?” Tears welled up as I turned to Shawn. “How did you…?”
“I’ve been searching for him for a year,” Shawn explained quietly. “I learned some details about him from your mom a few months before she passed. I found him last week in Arizona thanks to some social media contacts. He had a stroke a few years ago and lost his ability to walk. I brought him here yesterday… wanted to surprise you for Christmas.”
I sank to my knees beside the wheelchair, crying as my father embraced me.
“I thought…” I managed between sniffles. “When I saw the hotel… I thought…”
“Oh, sweetheart,” Shawn knelt with us. “I wanted to tell you so much. But I needed to be sure I could find him first. I couldn’t bear to disappoint you if it didn’t pan out.”
He pulled me into the small sofa’s comfort. “I wanted it to be perfect. Christmas morning, breakfast, your father… well, rolling in… the joy on your face…”
“I have 26 years of stories saved up,” Dad said softly. “If you’d like to hear them.”
“I want to know everything.” I grasped his hand tightly. “Every single story.”
The sound of laughter filled the room, the most wonderful Christmas gift I could have ever wished for.