Never Had Christmas √

CHAPTER 3

December 17

When Dad came home that evening, Mom told him about me finding out about the letter. He came up to my room to talk to me, but I pretended to be asleep. He kissed me on the forehead before leaving. I didn't bother to eat dinner that day.

My eyes snapped open, blinking away the sleep. I climbed out of bed and made my way to the bathroom, brushing my teeth and taking a quick bath before descending the stairs to the living room.

But something felt off. The house was unusually quiet, the silence weighing heavily upon me. Whenever Mom wasn't around in the mornings, the house was quiet, but today it felt different. My heart raced as I hurried down the stairs, a sense of unease settling in.

Dad was seated on the couch, and he stood up as soon as he saw me.

"Kali, you're awake..." he said, his voice tinged with worry and sadness.

"Good morning, Dad," I mumbled, my heart still pounding in my chest.

In his voice, I detected a combination of concern and sorrow, emotions I had never heard from him before. For the first time since last night, when he visited my room, I felt a pang of regret for all the hurtful things I had said to Mom. I felt miserable.

"Dad," I began, taking a seat beside him. "Where is Mom?"

He sighed heavily. "Kali, your Mom left home this morning after what happened last night. She said she can't stay here anymore," Dad replied.

"She can't stay here anymore," I repeated, tears welling up in my eyes as I stood up.

"Kali," Dad called out, his voice filled with regret. "I didn't want your mom to leave so soon, but she had to."

"Dad, Mom told me it was your idea for her to leave in the first place. She said you asked her to leave, didn't you, Dad? Didn't you?" I shouted before racing up the stairs to my room. I shut the door behind me and collapsed onto my bed, tears streaming down my face as I wrapped my arms around my legs.

I reached for my cell phone on the table and dialed Mom's number. It rang for a while before she picked up.

"Hello... Mom," I said, tears blurring my vision.

"Kali, how are you doing? And Brea, how is she? I hope you still remember how to prepare her food," she said softly.

"Mom, why did you leave home?" I asked, my voice cracking with emotion.

"Sweetie, I had to. The pressure was too much for me to bear. Your dad said I'm the cause of all that's been happening," she replied.

"But Mom, come back home, please..." I pleaded.

"I'll call you later, sweetie. I have to go now. Take care of yourself and your sister. Mom loves you so much," she said before ending the call.

I fell onto my bed, burying my face into my pillow. There was a knock at the door.

"Who's that?" I shouted, reluctant to answer. Eventually, I opened the door to find Brea sitting on the floor behind it, just waking up from her sleep. I picked her up and carried her downstairs to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. Mom used to make it, but now that she's gone, it's up to me.

I scrambled some eggs, toasted some bread, and poured cereal with lots of milk for Brea. Not long after, Dad came into the kitchen and lifted Brea into his arms.

"Smells good," he remarked.

I rolled my eyes. "Like Mom's hamburger and macaroni. Yum," I replied, handing him a plate.

"Kali, I know you're upset, but you don't have to make it seem like it's all my fault," he said, settling Brea into a chair at the table.

"Dad, I don't want to talk about it," I replied, focusing on feeding Bea her breakfast. It's challenging to feed a two-year-old who insists on eating by herself and ends up making a mess on the table.

Once Brea was settled, I began to eat my own food.

After breakfast, Dad left for work, leaving Brea and me alone at home. I sprawled on the couch, eating take-out fried chicken and watching television. Brea sat beside me with her doll, and we watched a holiday movie together. 'The Miracle of Christmas'

Just then, an idea struck me like a bolt of lightning. I jumped to my feet and raced up the stairs to Dad's room.

Rummaging through the shelves, I searched for our family photo album. It took a while, but I finally spotted it tucked underneath Dad's bed, nestled inside a box that I accidentally kicked as I reached for it.

Opening the box, I found it filled with greeting cards, photographs, and memories. I picked up one of the photos: a man with a mustache dressed as Santa Claus stood beside a woman in a green and red dress. In the center was an older woman with her hair piled up in curls, all of them wearing bright smiles. Across the bottom of the photo, in old gold ink, were the words "OUR HAPPY DAY - December 25."

It took a moment for it to sink in. The man and woman were my parents when they were younger. I studied the photo closely, noticing that the woman in the middle was now deceased, with "RIP mama" written in black ink on her cheek.

But who was the old woman in the middle? I rummaged through the box again, and there, tucked inside a card, was a note.