Chapter Twenty-Seven

OUR FIRST CHRISTMAS

 

IT WAS DURING THE FOURTH batch of our annual Christmas Eve cookie making event when the doorbell rang, and Mom went to answer it.

“I bet it’s Weston,” Daniel said as he pressed the dough out on the table.

Chances were it was yet another cookie delivery from one of the neighbors. Two tins had already been delivered since we started.

“Yeah, right. It’s been two days, and I haven’t heard one word from him. He’s probably at work right now, figuring out his schedule with Natalie,” I said, my lip twitching up into a sneer.

But even my anger didn’t stop the pain in my chest or stop the tears that had been falling almost non-stop since I left.

“God, I hate that bitch!” Daniel fumed.

“Makes two of us,” I said with a sigh. “She might have just ended what was never meant to be in the first place, though.” It hurt to say, but that didn’t make it any less true.

Daniel stared at me with wide eyes. “You don’t mean that, Wren.”

“Don’t I? Because I sure as hell thin