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foreign and new, while my family and friends tried desperately to force my memories, Christopher was the exception. He was as new to the world as I was, expecting nothing from me but love.
    Grateful for that, and for him, I ’d returned the emotion in spades.
    “ Merry Christmas,” I whispered, running my hands through the unruly mass of long red hair he’d vehemently insisted on growing.
    Tilting his h ead back, he returned my smile. “Where’s Dad?”
    Keeping my smile firmly in place, I softly brushed a few locks away from his eyes. “He’s on his way,” I lied. “He said not to wait for him.”
    “ But he’s coming, right?”
    Not knowing how to answer him, I changed the subject instead. “Your sister sent you that big box over there.” Releasing him, I gave him a gentle push toward the tree and pointed to the ridiculously large present Tegen and Cage had mailed out weeks ago.
    With an excited shout, the absence of his father temporarily forgotten, Christopher bounded forward. Grabbing the large red bow from the top of Tegen’s gift, he tossed it over his head and began quickly stripping off the brightly colored wrapping paper. Knowing them both, I was fearing the worst. A drum set, a dirt bike, something that would undoubtedly make Christopher ecstatic and me miserable.
    “ Mom! Look!”
    It was even worse than I ’d feared. Like a beacon on a foggy night, the words “Tactical Paintball Gun Mega Set” glared ominously at me. And I glared right back, silently promising retribution against my daughter and her husband. One day they would have a child and I would be the doting grandmother, buying my grandchild gifts that will surely leave its parents as equally horrified as I felt right now.
    Setting the paintball gun set aside, Christopher began tearing into his presents with happy abandon. Grabbing my coffee, I took my seat on the couch to watch him, smiling when he smiled, nodding excitedly each time he showed me a newly opened gift.
    But my heart wasn ’t in it. Every other minute I was checking my phone, hoping to find a message from Hawk, or Deuce, and coming up empty.
    I had grown so accustomed to our quiet life, to our dependable routines, that this glitch, this unexpected change was more than unsettling.
    In fact it was much worse than even that, the anxiety and worry coursing through me . . . it was all too familiar.
    “ This is for you, Mom.” Christopher appeared in front of me, a small wrapped box held in his outstretched hand. “From me,” he said proudly.
    The bitter coffee sloshing around in my stomach congealed into a hard ball of dread. A present from Christopher meant a present from Hawk, more than likely something they’d bought together during Hawk’s last visit.
    Setting my mug down , I took the little box from Christopher into my trembling hand. As I turned it over, noting the messy wrapping job, my lips began to curve in a genuine smile.
    “ Thank you,” I said softly as I did my best to release the wrapping paper without tearing it. It was the little things, like my son’s shoddy wrapping job, that I wanted to savor and remember. Thing I’d never done with Tegen.
    I ’d been too caught up in myself, desperate to be loved, unable to see past all the things I didn’t have that what I did have—Tegen and all her love—had gone unnoticed.
    Now I kept every drawing, every note, every little trinket or memento , all of them tucked safely away inside the chest beneath my bed.
    In a lot of ways, Christopher represented my redemption as a mother, but even more so as a person. Without him, without the circumstances that his conception had brought about, I might never have realized the extent of my mistakes, and thus would have never had the chance to make things right.
    The wrapping pa per safely removed, I was left staring down at a small velvet box. Surprised, I glanced up into Christopher’s smiling face.
    “ Jewelry?” I asked, confused. My accessorizing amounted to a