Five days before Christmas, Lily felt so hurt and humiliated that it took her a while to pull herself together. She only managed it for the sake of the children—she couldn’t let them see her upset before the holiday.
Lately, Max had been grumbling about everything. Nothing Lily or the kids did pleased him. He snapped at them constantly, and even nine-year-old Tommy noticed.
“Mum, why’s Dad so cross all the time?” he asked.
Their youngest, six-year-old Emily, might not have picked up on it, but Tommy had.
“Don’t worry, love,” Lily said, hugging him close. “Dad’s just tired from work. I’ll talk to him.”
But Lily knew something was wrong. Max had been distracted lately, snapping over nothing—even at the kids when they played loudly. He used to join in their games, filling the flat with laughter while Lily shushed them. Now, when Tommy and Emily raced around, he growled,
“Stop tearing about like mad things, or you’ll be in trouble!”
The children froze, then scurried to their room and shut the door.
“Max, what’s going on?” Lily asked gently. “You don’t have to be so sharp with them.”
“Nothing,” he muttered.
“Don’t lie. This isn’t the first time. You’re taking things out on us—what have we done?”
She hadn’t expected his reaction and instantly regretted starting the conversation. But then she thought—what difference would waiting make?
Max stood abruptly, hesitating before finally speaking.
“I didn’t want to bring this up before Christmas, but since you’re pushing…”
“Bring what up?”
“To avoid ruining the holiday.”
“How could you ruin it?”
“Lily, don’t play dense. Fine—I met someone else. I’ve fallen in love.”
“What? When? Is this a joke?”
“No joke. I’m leaving. I’ll see the kids on weekends. I’ll pay child support.”
Lily stood stunned, but Max cut her off.
“I’ll tell them myself—don’t say anything yet.”
“Not now,” Lily whispered. She knew this would devastate them.
Max disappeared into the bedroom, shoved clothes into a bag, and left without another word. The door slammed behind him.
Lily sank onto the sofa, numb. She’d never understood how abandoned women felt—until now. It was crushing, as if her world had collapsed. But she had to pull herself together for the kids.
She might have stayed there, lost in misery, but Emily burst in.
“Mum, did Dad go somewhere? Where is he?”
“Dad… he had to go away for work.”
“When’s he coming back?”
“I don’t know, love.”
Tommy peeked out. “Are we celebrating Christmas without him?”
“Yes, just the three of us. But we’ll still have the tree, presents—everything as always,” Lily said, forcing a smile.
That night, she barely slept, Max’s words ringing in her ears.
On Christmas Eve morning, she rallied herself to prepare, terrified the kids would notice something was wrong. Cooking always helped—she was good at it, and it kept her mind occupied.
She was halfway through baking a pie when she remembered she needed groceries.
“Mum, where are you going?” Emily asked.
“Just popping to the shop.”
“I’ll come!” Emily dashed off to get dressed.
“Get crisps, Mum!” Tommy called. “Emily, remind her!”
Later, the children went out to play. The tree was up, the table set, a fruit bowl in the centre. Lily was in the kitchen when Tommy’s voice rang out.
“Mum, come quick!”
She found them in the hallway, Tommy clutching a tiny black kitten with a white mark on its forehead.
“No. Absolutely not,” Lily said firmly.
The children pleaded. “Pleeease, Mum!”
“Take it outside. Put down a towel, give it milk—but it’s not staying.”
“It’s freezing! We’ll wash him!”
“The answer’s no.”
Tommy silently let the door shut. The kids washed their hands and vanished into their room.
Lily felt guilty, but she couldn’t handle a cat now—not after Max.
The doorbell rang. On the mat sat the kitten, darting in the moment she opened it.
“This little guest wanted in,” said their neighbour, Mrs. Hodgkins. “It’s a good omen—a kitten choosing your home at Christmas!”
The children cheered as the kitten bolted under the sofa.
“Believe me, dear, a Christmas kitten brings luck,” Mrs. Hodgkins said kindly.
Lily stayed silent. The kitten eventually emerged, and she carried it out.
“Mum, you’re mean,” Tommy said. “Dad would’ve let us keep him.”
At dinner, the children refused to eat.
Later, while kneading dough, Lily wondered why it was so quiet. She peeked into their room—Emily was scrubbing a wet patch on the floor. Beside it sat the kitten, smug.
Lily shrieked, cleaned up, and marched the kitten out again.
Exhausted, she slumped on the sofa. Why was she cooking so much? They wouldn’t eat half of it. Outside, it was dark. The kids were probably crying, and she hated this Christmas.
The doorbell rang again. Lily stormed over, ready to snap at Mrs. Hodgkins—but froze.
Max stood there.
“Lily, I couldn’t stay away. You and the kids—you’re my life. The rest was nonsense.”
“Daddy’s home!” Tommy yelled, clutching the kitten.
“Can we keep him?” Emily begged.
Max stepped inside, shutting the door.
“Well… a cat does bring good luck,” he said, smiling at Lily. “What do you say, love?”
She rolled her eyes, hiding her smile. “Fine. Do what you want.”
That Christmas, they celebrated as always—hunting for presents under the tree, lighting sparklers, laughing. And in the children’s room, the little black cat, now named Shadow, slept soundly, warm at last.
