A Christmas That Froze More Than the Snow I ignored that little box under our Christmas tree for years. My husband, Tyler, always said it was just a memory from his first love. “It’s nothing, Nicole,” he’d shrug. “Just a thing I’ve kept. Doesn’t mean anything.” But memories don’t haunt you like that—not quietly, not patiently, waiting year after year. Last Christmas, something inside me finally snapped. I opened the gift. And what I found inside changed everything. I met Tyler when I was thirty-two, and he was thirty-five. It

A Christmas That Froze More Than the Snow I went home for Christmas expecting awkward small talk, cheap hot chocolate, and the usual questions about my life. I figured it would be uncomfortable, but harmless. I had no idea that a stranger’s child pointing at me would tear my past wide open in the middle of a Christmas market. I’m 32, single, and I hadn’t been back to my hometown for the holidays in more than five years. I told myself I was ready. Ready for the memories. Ready for

A Christmas That Froze More Than the Snow On a bitter Christmas night, the slam of the front door echoed through the Sterling mansion, leaving a hollow silence in its wake. My 8-year-old sister, June, stood frozen, her tiny hands clutching a small gift bag. Tears streaked her face, mixing with the icy flakes that swirled around her. From inside came my mother’s voice, sharp and cruel, cutting through the quiet like glass:“You don’t belong here anymore.” June didn’t fight. She just stepped slowly into the snow, alone, as if