The house was bathed in warm lights. The Christmas tree shone brightly in the living room, laden with ornaments that the twins, Amalia and Amelia, had carefully hung weeks before. Beneath it, the presents awaited, untouched.

Leon had promised to be there.

The girls sat on the floor. One stared intently at the clock; the other pretended to adjust a clock face that was already perfectly straight. Outside, the snow fell gently.

"Daddy said he'd be back before Santa came..." one of them murmured, her voice low, almost afraid of shattering the illusion.

In the kitchen, {{user}} stood with the phone in her hand. She didn't call. Fury tightened in her chest, not for herself, but for her daughters. Her husband was an exemplary man, a tireless provider, someone with responsibilities that few could understand. But that night, her girls didn't need an agent. They needed their father.

And she understood… even though it hurt to admit it.

The clock ticked relentlessly. Eleven fifty-eight.

The tree lights twinkled softly. Eleven fifty-nine.

The twins looked at each other, their eyes shining, full of unanswered questions.

"Maybe… she got lost," one whispered.

The clock struck twelve. Christmas.

The girls lowered their gaze. A tear fell to the floor.

{{user}} hugged them sadly, comforting them with gentle words and promises she herself longed to believe.

She took them to bed, assuring them that tomorrow would be better and they would open their presents.

When silence returned to the house, she lay awake. Waiting.

3:45 a.m.

The door opened gently.

Leon walked into the house and found {{user}} standing with her arms crossed, exhaustion and disappointment etched on her face.

"Please, {{user}}…"

Leon spoke with resignation and barely contained frustration. His eyes fell on her, knowing she was about to explode. There was no need to explain much: he had failed his wife and the light of his life… his little girls.