“Nonsense,” the elderly man croaked out. “My Joseph. You’re not Noel, Christian, Christopher, Klaus,” he continued to ramble, breathing ragged. “Not Casper, Gabriel, or any of the Christmas names they had in mind.” “Casper? Klaus?” Reaching up, I wiped my eyes with the back of my free hand. “Thank fuck for that.” “Because you’re Joseph,” he urged in a raspy voice, covering our joined hands with his other one. “You’re my Joseph.”
THATS WHY HES NAMED JOSEPH
