Chapter 2 - The Tree and the Text
That evening, the biting Chicago wind howled against the windows of our modest, two-bedroom apartment as Lily and I set up our miniature Christmas tree. The apartment was warm, smelling faintly of cinnamon tea and toasted marshmallows. Lily stood on her tiptoes, holding a slightly crooked silver star that she had crafted out of construction paper and glitter.
She carefully placed it on the topmost branch, stepping back to admire her work with wide, bright eyes.
“Daddy?” she asked, tilting her head as she looked up at me. “Did your work invite you to their big Christmas party this year?”
I hesitated for a fraction of a second, feeling a sharp pang in my chest. I hated lying to her, but I also hated the idea of her worrying about adult cruelty.
“No, sweetie, they didn't,” I said gently, keeping my voice light.
Lily’s smile faded, her small shoulders slumping. “That’s mean. You work harder than anyone. You stay up late looking at spreadsheets even after I go to sleep.”
I walked over, knelt down, and kissed the top of her head, inhaling the sweet scent of her shampoo.
“Sometimes people show you exactly who they are, Lily,” I murmured, pulling her close. “And when they do, you don’t need to get angry. You just need to pay attention.”
She looked up, her young eyes wise beyond her years. “And then what?”
My phone buzzed quietly on the kitchen counter. I glanced over at the illuminated screen. It was an unread email from Evelyn Harrington, sent direct from her private server:
Looking forward to seeing you at the Northbridge Christmas gala tonight, Daniel. We have the final structural agreement ready for sign-off, and I want to announce our expansion partnership directly on stage.
May you like
I looked back down at my daughter and smiled.
“And then you let them make their mistakes.”
