“Do you have family nearby?”
The question was gentle.
Still, your throat tightened.
“Yes,” you said. “But I wasn’t invited.”
The table grew quieter.
Not awkward.
Protective.
Daniel’s smile faded.
Elena did not gasp or demand details. She only reached over and placed her hand over yours.
“Their loss,” she said.
Two words.
Simple.
Firm.
Nobody in your family had ever taken your side that quickly.
You looked down because the tears were back.
Frank cleared his throat.
“Well, then it’s settled. You’ll come to our table every Christmas Eve from now on.”
You blinked. “Sir, you don’t even know me.”
He pointed his fork at you. “I know you have good manners, sad eyes, and you didn’t complain about my dry turkey. That’s enough.”
“It is dry,” Elena said.
The table erupted into laughter.
Frank clutched his chest dramatically.
“Betrayal in my own house.”
Daniel leaned toward you and whispered, “Every year. Same joke. Still works.”
