Page 5 of Daddy's Little Christmas

A version who didn’t really exist.

My breath wobbled. A fresh wave of tears built at the back of my throat. But this time, I didn’t let them fall. I sat up straighter. Pulled in a long, shaking breath.

My world had cracked open tonight, but for the first time in a long time, the pieces didn’t feel like something to hide. They felt like something to save.

If loving him meant erasing myself, then walking away was the first thing I’d done right in a long time.

I didn’t know what came next. Tonight, I hadn’t been chosen. I hadn’t been wanted. But for the first time in years, I wasn’t choosing someone else.

I was choosing me.

Chapter 1

Rudy

Nine months later…

By the time the last post in the campaign queue went live, my apartment was quiet enough to hear the fridge hum.

I stared at my laptop screen, watching the numbers climb—likes, shares, comments, saves. The client would be thrilled. The pre-save link for the new Orion Skye single was already blowing up, and I’d barely hit publish.

I should’ve felt that familiar buzz of satisfaction. Job well done. Campaign executed. Another win.

Instead, I just felt… tired.

I closed the reporting tab and leaned back in my chair until the old faux leather creaked. The afternoon light slanted through the blinds in thin, dusty lines. Outside, the city moved—sirens in the distance, a car horn, someone laughing on the sidewalk below—but up here, on the fourth floor of a building that never really felt like mine, everything was still.

My phone buzzed beside the keyboard.

OrionSkyeOfficial:You’re a legend, Rudy. Numbers look insane already

Me:Glad it’s hitting. You guys deserve it. Get some sleep before launch day, yeah?

Three dots appeared for a second, then vanished. Typical. Rock stars, politicians, influencers—they were all the same when it came to boundaries. I set my phone down before they could rope me into another call.

For a long minute, I just sat there, listening to my heartbeat in my ears.

Nine months since I’d walked out of that restaurant. Six months since I’d seen that first photo of Nate with someone new. Three months since I’d stopped expecting his name to pop up on my phone.

I blew out a breath and reached for my mouse, more out of habit than intention. Work had become the way I kept myself from thinking too hard. Schedule the posts. Draft the copy. Check the metrics. Repeat.

When the campaign dashboard finally blurred, I pushed the laptop away and grabbed my phone instead. Doomscrolling wasn’t better than work, but at least it required less… me.

Email.

Text.

News app.

Tap, swipe, tap.

Halfway down a queer culture newsfeed, a headline snagged my attention.

“The Love That Built a Town: Winterhaven, Vermont’s Hidden Queer History.”

I frowned and tapped without thinking.

A photo loaded at the top of the article: two men in black and white, standing in front of a cabin. One had a beam over his shoulder, smile crooked but wide. The other held a paintbrush and looked like he was mid-laugh. Someone had scrawledWinterhaven Lodge, 1956along the bottom in faded ink.