She knew it was a cold day by the sky colored in with metal. Tree branches blew in the thin wind. Hillary twisted the knob on her the radio on her bedside table. “And so this is Christmas.” All year long, she was never happier than she was early on Christmas morning. No fights had blown open the doors or cracked the windows yet. Chandeliers hung still from the ceiling and the oven sat cool under the row of cabinets. Mom was downstairs plugging in the lights on the tree. Big opaque bulbs framed in foil flowers were strung around the tree. Silver garland looped and twinkle lights flashed. Webs of tinsel were tangled in clots and caught the blinking lights. Dad fussed with the video camera on the tripod and built up the fire in the fireplace. Christmas music rang through the downstairs, and piles of presents filled the corners of the den.