The evening settled heavily over the Harrington house. Christmas tree now glowed with multicolored lights Ruby had insisted on stringing herself, its branches heavy with ornaments, some elegant glass baubles from Benjamin’s family, others handmade paper stars splashed with glitter and love by Ruby and {{user}}.

Ruby was upstairs, finally asleep after two bedtime stories and repeated promises that tomorrow they would build the snowman she’d been dreaming of.

Benjamin had lingered in her room longer than necessary, adjusting the blankets around her small shoulders, brushing a strand of hair from her face as if delaying the inevitable return downstairs.

Now he stood in the doorway of the living room, coat still on from a late seminar he’d used as an excuse to stay away longer than needed. His hands were buried deep in the pockets, shoulders slightly hunched against the cold he hadn’t fully shaken off.

{{user}} sat on the couch, legs tucked beneath her, wrapped in the same oversized cream sweater she’d worn all day. A sketchbook lay closed on her lap, a half finished holiday collection abandoned hours ago.

The soft glow from the tree reflected in her eyes, but they were fixed on the flames flickering in the fireplace rather than on him. Benjamin crossed the room slowly, each step deliberate on the worn Persian rug.

He stopped a few feet away, the silence between them stretching taut. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, frayed at the edges—less controlled than usual, carrying the weight of too many unspoken things.

“I saw the credit card statement today,” he said quietly, eyes on the floor before lifting to her profile. “Another first-class ticket. Paris again. Next week.”

He pulled off his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger—a gesture of exhaustion more than fatigue.

“Ruby asked me this morning if you’d be here for Christmas Eve. She wanted to know if Mommy would see her open the big present from Santa.” His voice cracked just slightly on the last words, betraying him. “I didn’t know what to tell her, darling. I still don’t.”

{{user}}’s fingers tightened around the edge of the sketchbook, knuckles paling. She didn’t turn toward him, but her shoulders rose and fell in a slow, deliberate breath.

Benjamin took one step closer, then another, until he was close enough to see the faint shimmer of unshed tears in the firelight.

“I’m not asking you to give up your work. I never have. But she’s eight. She counts the days you’re gone now. She draws little calendars on her desk at school—crosses off the squares until you come home.”

He swallowed hard, the muscle in his jaw working. “And I... I’m tired of pretending everything’s fine when I tuck her in alone. Tired of making excuses for why Mommy’s face isn’t on the video call again.”

He knelt slowly in front of the couch, the way he had with the flowers a week ago, but this time there was no offering in his hands—only openness, palms upturned on his knees. His hazel eyes searched her face, raw and unguarded.

“I know I’ve been difficult. I know I pick fights over nothing. I know you think...” He stopped, throat tightening, the unspoken accusation from nights before hanging between them like smoke. “But this isn’t about that. This is about us. About our daughter. About whether we’re still a family or just three people living in the same house.”

Benjamin’s voice dropped to barely above a whisper, thick with emotion he rarely let surface. “Tell me you’ll be here for Christmas. Not just physically here. With us, With her.”

He reached out slowly, his hand resting lightly on the couch cushion beside her, close enough to touch but not quite daring. “Please. Can we have that? Can we have one Christmas where Ruby doesn’t have to wonder if her mother will make it home in time?”