The Last Christmas
On Christmas Eve, our three-year-old daughter, Noelle Gilder, who has cancer, takes a turn for the worse. All she wants is for her mother, Ivana Lance, to dress as Santarina and bring her a gift.
I frantically call Ivana, but she impatiently yells into the phone, saying, "Why are you calling me nonstop? I am helping Charles look for Bubbles! Do you really have to make a scene over this? If Bubbles is gone, Charles will be so heartbroken that he will not be able to sleep for days!"
Bubbles? So she was looking for the dog of her first love, Charles Larsson!
Suppressing my anger, I tell her that Noelle might not survive the night.
She laughs disbelievingly, "Mr. Gilder, do not think for a second that I'm not aware that you've spoiled Noelle rotten! If she had not suddenly kicked Bubbles, he would not have run away. Make Noelle apologize to Charles tomorrow."
After hanging up, I accompany Noelle as she spends her final Christmas Eve with tears in my eyes.
The next day, Ivana publishes a post on Instagram, still looking for the dog.
Meanwhile, my post is Noelle's obituary.
Ten years of marriage melt away into nothingness like snow.