The Lie After Thanksgiving
With my brother's help, my son and I quickly found them.
Silas and Iris were wearing matching family outfits that day. Three doodle faces—two large, one small—were printed across their chests. The moment my son saw them, his steps froze. "Mommy… Daddy doesn't actually hate childish things, does he?"
Last Christmas, Felix's gift to Silas and me had been a family portrait he'd drawn himself. The lines were clumsy, the colors messy in places, the paint even spilling past the edges—but it was obvious he'd poured his heart into it.