I always assumed my husband and I shared everything.
Until Christmas Day, when everything I believed to be true fell apart, that is, at least, what I believed.
Shawn drummed uncomfortably on the kitchen counter, “Andrea, I have something to tell you.” “My supervisor called. I have an urgent client situation in Boston that he requires me to handle.
“Over Christmas?” My eyes got big.
“This is the first time you have ever had to travel on Christmas.” To keep warm, I wrapped my hands around my coffee mug. “Is there anyone else who could do it?”
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“I swear, I will make it up to you. When I return, we will have our own Christmas.
I tried to grin, but my chest was heavy with disappointment. “What time are you departing?”
“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.
I shoved that idea aside. It was Shawn, after all. My name is Shawn. The man I trusted the most in the world.
My phone lit up about 9 p.m., and Shawn called. My heart leaped.
His tone seemed strange: ‘Merry Christmas, beautiful,’ he said.
“Merry Christmas! How’s Boston? You have the client situation sorted out?”
“It’s… uh… good. I’m not in a position to really talk right now. I have to go—”
He practically shouted: ‘I have to go.’ “Emergency meeting!”
My hands were trembling. What about an emergency meeting? At 9 p.m. on Christmas Eve? Over restaurant noises in the background. None of it made sense.
After I remembered my fitness tracker. Last weekend when I went grocery shopping and brought him some groceries we left it in his car. I opened the app on my phone with shaky fingers.
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?
Did he meet anyone? Was our marriage a sham from the beginning?
I muttered to myself, “No.” “No, no, no.”
I hurried to my car and went directly to the hotel without giving it any thought.
When I got there, Shawn’s silver car was already in the parking lot.
My heart was pounding so rapidly I thought it could explode, and my hands were shaking as I strode into the foyer.
I got a prepared smile from the receptionist. “May I assist you?”
“My husband is this dude. What room does he occupy?
She paused. “I am not meant to—” Ma’am.
I must know, please. His car is right outside, but he informed me he was in Boston. Please… I must be aware of what is happening.
She passed a keycard across the counter and said, “Room 412.” “But, miss? Things are not always as 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—”
D.I.E.D. was in my throat.
Shawn was standing next a wheelchair.
A man with silver-flecked hair and eyes I had not seen since I was five years old sat in the wheelchair.
“DADDY?” It was a whisper, a prayer, and a question I had been asking myself for twenty-six years.
“ANDREA!” said my father, his voice shaking. “My tiny girl.”
“How?” With tears streaming down my cheeks, I looked to Shawn. “How did you manage to…”
Shawn spoke softly, “I’ve been looking for him,” he added, “for a year.” I learned a few things about him from your mother a few months before she passed. Through social media, I found him last week (when) in Arizona. A few years ago he had a stroke and lost the ability to walk. District Attorney broke down yesterday… I drove down to get him yesterday … I 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…”
Shawn knelt beside us. I wanted to tell you so badly.” I just had to make sure I could get to him before he did. I couldn’t even handle the idea that it wouldn’t work out and I would disappoint you.”
We sat in on the small sofa and he pulled me close. “I wanted it to be perfect. Christmas breakfast, your father walking … well, your father walking in … the look on your face …”
Dad said softly, ‘I have 26 years stories.’ “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.