“With her furnace?” Clara laughed. It was a harsh, dry sound. “In a blue dress?”

I did not say a word to Richard. I walked into the hallway, took my heavy winter coat off the hook, and slipped my boots on.

My hands were cold, but my head was burning. I grabbed my car keys from the bowl by the door.

“Where are you going?” Richard called out. He followed me into the hall, his face still blotchy. “Ellen, please. Let’s talk about this. Don’t do this in front of the kids. It’s Christmas.”

“It is Christmas,” I said. It was the first time I had spoken since the TV screen flashed. My voice sounded strange to me. It was too quiet. Too steady.

Clara grabbed her coat too. “I’m coming with you, Mom.”

We left the house. We left Richard standing in the hallway next to the Costco box. The drive to Susan’s house took twelve minutes. The snow was falling faster now, big, heavy flakes sticking to the windshield. The wipers made a rhythmic, scraping sound that seemed incredibly loud in the silent car.

Clara sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window. She was holding Richard’s phone. She had brought it with her. Every few seconds, the phone would buzz in her lap. Richard was trying to call. Over and over.

“Do you want me to block him?” Clara asked.

“No,” I said. “Let it ring.”

When we pulled into Susan’s driveway, her small ranch-style house looked peaceful. There were electric candles in her windows, casting a warm, yellow glow onto the snow. It looked like the home of a quiet widow. It looked like the home of my sister.

I got out of the car. My boots crunched on the unshoveled sidewalk.

Clara followed close behind me. I did not ring the doorbell. I just knocked. Hard.

After a long moment, the curtain in the front window moved. Then, the lock turned. The door swung open.

Susan was standing there. She was wearing the blue silk dress. Her makeup was done, and she had a silver necklace around her neck. She looked beautiful. She looked ready for a special evening. She had a half-empty glass of red wine in her hand.

When she saw me and Clara, the glass of wine slipped from her fingers. It hit the hardwood floor of her entryway and shattered, the dark red liquid splashing across her white rug and the hem of her blue dress.

“Ellen,” she whispered. Her voice was barely a squeak. Her eyes went wide, darting to Clara, then to the phone in Clara’s hand.

“He got a new phone, Susan,” I said. I stepped inside her house, walking right over the spilled wine. “He synced it to our TV. The kids were opening presents. We all saw the messages.”

Susan backed away from me. Her hands went to her mouth. “Ellen, I’m so sorry. It’s not what you think. It’s… we didn’t mean for this to happen. It was just… we were both so lonely.”