“Dad?” I squeaked, frozen in shock. His weathered face lit up in a bright smile. “Hey, baby, merry Christmas.” He opened his arms, and I launched myself at him. His hug closed around me, and I sobbed into his cashmere sweater, which was still lightly dusted in snowflakes. “What are you doing here?” I mumbled into his chest, my face wet with tears all over again. “I thought you couldn’t—” “Mom said you needed a hug,” he told me in a low whisper, “so if my boss asks, I’ve got cold and flu symptoms and put myself into self-isolation. All right?” A slightly hysterical laugh bubbled out of me at
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