A kid calling me Dad. My sister's best friend crashing in to help like this is a romcom. (And yeah, pinning the best friend to the nearest wall would absolutely get me on the naughty list.) This Christmas is a disaster waiting to happen.

One minute I'm a Grinch divorce lawyer avoiding Christmas like it's a contested prenup clause, the next, there's a twelve-year-old girl on my doorstep claiming I'm her kid. With her cat and an annotated list of holiday movies I'm apparently contractually obligated to watch.
And then? My little sister's best friend moves in to help. The former wedding planner. She looks like every bad decision I've always wanted to make, and nearly did that night after that Christmas party. Now she's in my house, wearing flannel, baking things, and filing motions to trim trees like we're not one snowstorm away from me forgetting every objection I've ever raised.

Grace says she's my daughter, and her matter-of-fact cross-examination is hard to refute.

None of this was in my life brief. Not Grace. Not Sophie moving in. And definitely not me catching feelings I can't afford. Especially not for the one woman who makes me question my own closing arguments against love. Especially as Grace has been secretly posting her hopes under #ChristmasWishlist—like family and forever are things you can order online with two-day shipping. And if I'm not careful, I might grant her wishes.

Starting with Sophie. And the future my cynical heart ruled inadmissible long ago.

I've spent my career proving happily-ever-afters don't exist.

This Christmas, I might have to object to my own evidence.

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