I always assumed my husband and I shared everything.
At least, that was my belief until Christmas Day, when everything I thought I knew crumbled around me.
“Andrea, I need to tell you something,” Shawn said, his fingers drumming nervously on the kitchen counter. “My boss called. He needs me to handle an emergency client situation in Boston.”
“During Christmas?” my eyes widened.
“You’ve never had to travel on Christmas before.” I curled my hands around my coffee mug to stay warm. “Couldn’t someone else handle it?”
“I’ll make it up to you, I promise. We’ll have our own Christmas when I get back.”
I attempted a smile but disappointment weighed heavily on my chest. “When are you leaving?”
“Tonight. I’m so sorry, honey.”
That evening, as I helped Shawn pack, memories of our time together flooded back to me.
His smile had faded slightly. “I’m so sorry about this trip, darling.”
“I know!” I sat at the edge of the bed. “It’s just… Christmas won’t be the same without you.”
I leaned on his shoulder. “Promise you’ll call?”
“Every chance I get. I love you.”
“Love you too.”
As I watched him drive away, something niggled in the back of my mind.
But I pushed that notion away. It was Shawn, after all. My name is Shawn. And the man I trusted the most in the world.
Shawn called about 9 p.m., and my phone lit up. My heart leaped.
“Merry Christmas, beautiful,” he said, his tone strangely strained.
“Merry Christmas! How’s Boston? Did you get the client situation sorted out?”
“It’s… uh… good. Listen, I can’t really talk right now. I have to go—”
“I have to go!” he practically shouted. “Emergency meeting!”
I stared at my phone, my hands trembling. What about an emergency meeting? At 9 p.m. on Christmas Eve? With restaurant noises in the background. None of it made sense.
Then I recalled my fitness tracker. I left it in his car after we went grocery shopping last weekend. With shaky fingers, I launched the app on my phone.
Shawn’s car wasn’t in Boston. It was parked at a hotel in our city, less than 15 minutes away from our home.
A hotel? In our city? On Christmas Eve?
Was he meeting anyone? Had our whole marriage been a lie?
“No,” I whispered to myself. “No, no, no.”
Without thinking, I dashed to my car and drove straight to the hotel.
Shawn’s silver car was immediately in the parking lot when I arrived.
My hands trembled as I marched into the lobby, my heart thumping so hard I feared it might burst.
The receptionist gave me a practiced smile. “Can I help you?”
“This man is my husband. Which room is he in?”
She hesitated. “Ma’am, I’m not supposed to—”
“Please, I need to know. He told me he was in Boston, but his car is right outside. Please… I have to know what’s going on.”
“Room 412,” she said and slid a keycard across the counter. “But miss? Sometimes things aren’t what they seem.”
I hardly caught her final remarks as I dashed to the elevator.
Room 412. I didn’t knock… I simply swiped the keycard and burst in.
“Shawn, how could you—”
The words d.i.e.d in my throat.
There was Shawn, standing next to a wheelchair.
And in that wheelchair sat a man with silver-streaked hair and familiar eyes, which I hadn’t seen since I was five.
“DADDY?” The word came out as a whisper, a prayer, and a query I’d had for 26 years.
“ANDREA!” my father exclaimed, his voice trembling. “My little girl.”
“How?” I turned to Shawn with tears flowing down my cheeks. “How did you…?”
“I’ve been searching for him for a year,” Shawn said softly. “Learned a few details about him from your mother a few months before she passed. Found him in Arizona last week through social media contacts. He had a stroke a few years back and lost his ability to walk. I drove down to get him yesterday… wanted to surprise you for Christmas.”
I collapsed to my knees beside his wheelchair, sobbing as he gathered me into his arms.
“I thought…” I choked out between sobs. “When I saw the hotel… I thought…”
“Oh, sweetheart,” Shawn knelt beside us. “I wanted to tell you so badly. But I needed to make sure I could find him first. I couldn’t bear the thought of disappointing you if it didn’t work out.”
He pulled me close on the small sofa. “I wanted it to be perfect. Tomorrow morning, Christmas breakfast, your father walking… well, rolling in… the look on your face…”
“I have 26 years of stories saved up,” Dad said softly. “If you want to hear them.”
“I want to hear everything.” I reached for his hand. “Every single story.”
The sound of their laughter was the greatest Christmas present I could have ever gotten.
