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I thought about Sid’s father a lot after that.

Sometimes, I thought about what kind of demons he’d fought quietly until he lost the battle.

Other times, I thought about the demons he’d invited to live inside his son after exposing him to the unthinkable trauma of watching his own father put a bullet in his brain—and how Sid hadn’t allowed those demons to take over astounded me in ways I wasn’t sure I’d ever verbalize.

But what I thought about most was how easy it must’ve been to end it all.

The sweet relief of finally being released from that proverbial cage.

And, no, I couldn’t pretend to understand what it’d been like for him to survive as a POW, but that didn’t make my own inner monster any quieter.

The one who looked and sounded an awful lot like the man who’d raised me.

Truth be told, I hadn’t thought much about killing myself prior to my sister’s wedding night.

Yes, I had thought about dying. Yes, I had even wished for death to relieve me from this life.

But I had never actually considered that I could be the one to put an end to all my suffering.

And how silly of me to have never let it cross my mind when, suddenly, it all seemed so obvious, so clear.

But I didn’t want to do it. Or at least not yet. Not when I still could hear Sid’s pleading voice, begging me to love them all enough to stay and fight.

So, I tried.

I tried for another year. I tried all the way to the following Christmas Eve, when I was thirty-two, and Lucy was pregnant with their first baby, and Grace was hoping Sid would propose soon, and my father begrudgingly agreed to allow me to come home for Christmas per my sisters’ nagging requests.

I hadn’t seen him since the night of the wedding, and now, standing on his front porch, I wasn’t sure what it would be like to see him again. Especially after I’d humiliated him publicly.

I sucked in a deep breath of frigid air until my lungs ached, and then I rang the doorbell and anxiously waited for someone to pull the door open.

Would it be my father? Was it possible my mother had dragged herself out of bed to celebrate Christmas Eve, in the way she had for Lucy’s wedding—or had that just been for the sake of keeping up appearances?

I laughed to myself. How embarrassed would my father have been if my mom had decided to sleep her daughter’s wedding day away?

God, how would he have explained that one?

Having to apologize for the son who’d had a little too much to drink suddenly seemed to pale in comparison to the complete absence of his wife, and I wished she hadn’t come.

Maybe then my father wouldn’t have been so fucking pissed at me for the last year over one stupid little incident.

Come on. He’d be pissed regardless. He always has been … and over much less.

Maybe not though. People change. Look at me. I changed .

I ran my hand over the beard I’d grown that was possibly a little too scraggly and unkempt.

Yeah, but he doesn’t.

Not yet, but—

The door was thrown open, and there stood my pregnant sister. She smiled and outstretched her arms, and I stepped into the embrace, wrapping my arms around her waist.

“You’re here,” she said quietly, her smile pressed to my shoulder.

I tightened my hold on her. “I said I’d come.”

“Yeah, but …” She sighed, and that spoke more than any words could.

I’d said a lot of things over the past year.

I told Ricky I’d help them move into their new house …

but didn’t. I told Grace I’d come for a game night at her apartment in Boston …

but didn’t. I canceled holiday plans, declined invitations to hang out from Sid and Ricky, and just flat-out failed to show my face on a number of occasions.

Not without reasons, all of which had seemed perfectly valid at the time.

I’d been hungover, my anxiety had been too intense, the effort to roll out of bed and rake a comb through my hair had felt like too much …

the list went on and on , and it had all made sense at the time, but now, feeling Lucy’s big, round belly pressed against me, I realized I’d missed so much.

I’d missed so much for so long.

They’re doing life without me … and they’re fine. They’d be even better if they weren’t worrying about me, always calling me, always inviting me to do things and go places.

They shouldn’t be worrying about anything.

Especially me.

Lucy stood back, keeping her hands on my shoulders. She smiled, taking in my appearance as if she hadn’t seen me in months … but that was true, wasn’t it? When was the last time I’d seen her? July? August maybe?

What the hell have I done these past few months?

Her smile faltered a little as her eyes landed on my face. “You look tired, Max,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “Have you been sleeping?”

I pushed a laugh through my lips. “Yeah, I’ve been sleeping.” And when I wasn’t sleeping, I was drinking myself to sleep.

Her eyes danced over my face, the smile falling from her lips entirely. “When … when was the last time you ate anything? Or … I don’t know … showered?”

“You saying I smell?”

I was teasing her, yet I couldn’t tell her when the last time had been.

Maybe a few days ago. Could’ve been a week.

I had thought about it when I knew I’d be coming over, but …

I didn’t know I was coming, did I? I’d reconsidered so many times over the last week.

I’d picked up the phone to cancel at least ten times since I’d woken up this morning—or was it the afternoon?

There just wasn’t time to jump in the shower, but …

it’d been at least a few days ago. Maybe a week. A week and a half at most.

She shook her head, and then her bottom lip began to wriggle, like she was about to cry. “No, no … sorry. I’m sorry. I’m just … I worry about you, you know? We all do. And …”

To my horror, tears began to trickle down her cheeks, and I hurried to pull a crumpled-up napkin from the pocket of my coat.

She laughed, her cheeks pinking with embarrassment. “God, I’m ridiculous. It’s the hormones. I cry about everything. Come inside. It’s freezing out there.”

I should’ve said something or reassured her that I was fine, that I’d been fine, but I said nothing, not wanting to perpetuate the topic. The less focus on me, the better.

I walked inside and closed the door behind me, now able to see just how different my parents’ house was since I’d last been there. The furniture had changed. The carpet had been ripped out and replaced, no longer a murky beige, stained with dog shit.

My eyes landed on the wall behind the couch I didn’t recognize to look over the framed pictures.

My parents had never kept pictures of the family in the living room before—or anywhere in the house, for that matter.

I’d always figured the pictures had never been, well, picturesque enough for my father, so they’d kept them elsewhere, places I didn’t know of, hidden away from anyone who might come over.

But now, looking at these … a few shots from Lucy’s wedding, a photograph of my fa ther and sisters and Ricky and Sid at what looked like a restaurant on the water, a picture of my sisters standing in front of a Christmas tree …

“I’m not in any of these,” I said out loud.

“What?” Lucy asked, pulling on a cardigan and wrapping it around her belly. She came to stand next to me, scanning her eyes over the wall. “I’m sure you’re … no, you have to be in at least …”

I looked down at her. “I’m not.”

She swallowed and chewed on her bottom lip before saying, “Maybe, um … maybe they just didn’t realize …”

I barked a laugh. “Yeah. Sure.”

Grace, Sid, and Ricky came together from the kitchen, laughing about something. They seemed excited to see me as they all at once came at me with hugs and outstretched hands. But it was Sid who realized first that I wasn’t smiling as I greeted them.

“Hey, what’s up?” he asked. “This ratty-lookin’ beard got you down? Listen, I’ll let you borrow my razor. We’ll get that—"

I pointed at the wall. “Have you noticed this shit?”

Ricky glanced in the direction I was pointing. “What?”

Grace followed his gaze, but said nothing as Sid replied in a gruff, low voice, “Yeah, I know. But don’t worry about that. Let’s just … let’s just have a nice night, okay? We’ll deal with that—"

“I don’t exist in this house,” I hissed at him, now ignoring the others. My eyes bored into his. “Why does he want to erase me? ”

I knew Sid had less answers than me. He knew next to nothing about my childhood and my relationship with my father, outside of what he’d seen firsthand at the wedding and whatever Grace might’ve told him.

Still, I looked to him now for reasons, for an explanation, and why the hell had I become so dependent on him?

“I don’t know,” he replied honestly. “But that’s not us , Serg—you know that. That doesn’t represent us. So, fuck it.”

“Why should I be here at all? Why should I want to be in a place I’m obviously not welcome?”

I sounded frantic.

I need to leave.

No, I need a drink.

“No, no, no,” Grace said, grabbing my arm. “You are welcome. Daddy … he just … he needs to warm up to—"

“Warm up to me ?” I nearly shouted, wrenching my arm from her grasp. “Are you seriously making excuses for him? Are you—"

“What’s going on in here?”

We collectively turned to face my father, standing in the kitchen doorway. His face, stony and cold, the complete opposite of the man in the pictures on the wall.

Lucy wrapped her arms around my waist and said, “Daddy, Max is here.”

My father stood, hands tucked casually into his pockets, as he raked a scrutinizing glare over me.

“I see,” he muttered with a hint of disgust, like my sisters had invited a homeless man over for Christmas dinner. “Well, dinner is almost ready. Make sure your hands are clean, Maxwell.”

He turned and retreated back to the kitchen, and Lucy gave me a squeeze.

“He cooked?” I asked, staring at the spot he’d just vacated.