The Night He Left Us in the Snow
On Christmas Eve, Adrian Moretti left my father and me on an icy lakeside road because Lucia Vale called and said she was sick.
The defibrillator that could have saved my father was in his armored SUV, driven away by the man my father had trusted for seven years.
I called Adrian until my fingers went numb. When he finally answered, Lucia was crying on the other end, and his voice held only impatience.
“Elena, stop making this dramatic. Wait for the escort car. Lucia needs me right now.”
By the time the Moretti men arrived, my father was already gone.
An hour later, Lucia posted a photo from the Moretti estate.
She stood beneath the Christmas tree in Adrian’s coat, pale and fragile, with his hand resting on her shoulder.
The caption read:
Christmas feels like home when he is here.
I looked at that photo for a long time.
Then I liked it and left a comment.
Merry Christmas. I wish you both a lifetime together.
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