I took her hand and went back to the dining room. She clung to me like I might disappear. And there they all were, still at the table, eating. Laughing. My dad sipping his juice. My mom finishing her pie. Logan telling some stupid story. Jingle Bells was playing in the background while my daughter wiped tears with her sleeve.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said, my voice shaking. “You’re just sitting here, eating and laughing, while my kid is standing in another room with a sign on her neck?”

No one looked at me. My mother sipped her coffee, slow and calm.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I snapped.

Bianca finally turned, all smug and self-righteous. “She ruined Christmas, Felicia. Knocked over the tree, food everywhere, dishes broken. And then she wouldn’t admit it. Tried to blame Nolan.”

Nolan, her precious nine-year-old, spoiled rotten, sat there with an innocent face, as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

Ruby pressed into me, sobbing. “Mom, he pushed me. It’s true.”