Heartbroken (A Christmas Story) 2

The sound rang out sharp and violent, glass scattering across the floor in tiny jagged pieces. For a moment I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move.

My chest tightened as though the shards had embedded themselves inside me instead of the tiles.

Silence fell on the other side of the door. Not the kind of silence that comes with peace, but the loaded kind that makes your stomach knot, waiting for something to happen.

A low grunt, a shuffle, then Sophie’s voice, breathy, half laughing.

“What was that?”

Mike muttered something I couldn’t catch. Then the rhythm picked up again, slower this time, as if he was listening and moving at once.

My knees weakened, my back pressing against the wall beside his door. I wanted to run. God, I wanted to. But I stayed there, pinned by my own disbelief, as though my body belonged to someone else.

“It’s nothing,” Mike said at last, his tone dismissive. “Probably something fell in the sitting room.”

Her giggle fol