I swing the door open and kick the snow off my boots before entering the house. Found out about what?

“The Daily Post published an article, claiming several sources, that your father…”

Dread seeps in, and I almost hang up the phone. I hadn’t realized how nice it’s been, not letting the world in, and I really don’t think I want to know.

But she wouldn’t have called unless it was important.

“What?” I ask, pulling off my coat.

“That your father was abusive to your mother,” she tells me. “That he forced her to die with him.”

“What?” I blurt out.

How would they come up with that conclusion? And they have sources?

Because I don’t remember anyone else being in the house that night to witness anything.

I clench the phone in my hand, but I immediately ease up. Why would anyone speculate something like that? What purpose does it serve?

“Tiernan?” Mirai prompts.

I swallow. “Yes.”

I walk into the kitchen, the scent of the deer stew Jake has simmering filling the air as Kaleb and Noah enter the house behind me. Jake turns from the sink and meets my eyes. I look away.

“We know it’s not true,” Mirai continues, “but there’s little we can do about this, and—”

I shake my head, hanging up the phone. Grabbing my laptop on the table, I spin it around and bring up the Internet.

Why am I aggravated? I don’t care what they say about my parents. Maybe it would reveal that they weren’t perfect, even if the current topic of discussion was bullshit.

The guys surround the table, no doubt waiting to know what’s going on, but as the page loads, and I type in my parents’ names, the headlines assault me all at once.

My heart pounds against my chest.

“What does it say?” Noah asks, peering over my shoulder.

I shake my head, anger rising up my throat, and I don’t know how to make it stop.

“Sources claim my father was controlling,” I tell him, skimming an article, “domineering, and my mother feared him. He took her with him because he didn’t trust her loyalty once he was gone.”

This is bullshit. My father lived to see her thrive.

I click out of the article, scanning other headlines, Twitter mentions, and links to YouTube videos. Really? Conspiracy vlogs this fast?

A hand grabs my screen and spins the laptop around, away from me.

“Don’t look at it.” Jake slams the top shut. “You knew all the shit they were spewing, which is why you’ve stayed off the Internet.”

I dig my nails into the table.

“Well, is it possible?” I hear Noah interject.

His father shoots him a look.

“I mean… It’s not like it matters anyway, right?” Noah rushes to add. “They were jerks.”

I take a deep breath, trying not to hear him.

But he’s right. Does it matter? Why is this pissing me off?

“This isn’t your problem,” Jake tells me in a stern voice.

I raise my eyes, meeting his calm stare. Patient, but… ready if I need him.

I stand up straight and pick my cell back up, scrolling my contacts.

I dial.

“Bartlett, Snyder, and Abraham, how may I direct your call?”

“This is Tiernan de Haas,” I say. “I need to speak to Mr. Eesuola.”

There’s a short pause, and then, “Yes, Ms. De Haas. Please hold.”

Kaleb hangs back, leaning against a wooden beam between the kitchen and living room, his eyes lowered, while his father and brother stare at me from by the table.

“Tiernan,” Mr. Eesuola answers. “How are you?”

I spin around, facing away from the guys for privacy. “Have you seen the article in the Daily?” I ask quietly.

“Yes, just this morning.” His voice is solemn. “I’ve already sent a Cease and Desist.”

I shake my head. “No.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “You want a retraction printed instead?”

I sigh and start pacing the kitchen. “The damage is done,” I tell him. “Readers will believe it no matter what now. I don’t want it to happen again, though.”

“You want to make an example out of them?”

“Yes.”

We’re both quiet, and hopefully he knows what I’m asking without saying it. I’m sure it must seem petty, and I may change my mind, but for all they know, I loved and adored my parents. It’s shitty to print a story you can’t prove when you know their orphan is watching.

“We’ll talk soon,” he says, understanding me.

“Goodbye.”

I hang up and walk to the sink, drawing a glass of water.

Jake comes to my side. “You could just make a statement.”

I laugh under my breath, turning off the faucet. “Their daughter defending them? That’s believable,” I mumble. “If this goes to court, they’ll be forced to account for their sources.”

“And you’re betting they don’t have any.”

“I know they don’t have any.” I hold the glass to my lips. “Mirai and I lived in that house. No one controlled my mother. Next to him was exactly where she wanted to be.”

I take a drink and spin around, heading out of the kitchen and toward the stairs. I need a shower.

“Why do you care?” I hear Noah call after me. “They were awful to you.”

I stop on the third step, trying to push myself to just keep walking, because I don’t know how to answer that. It takes a moment for me to turn around and meet his gaze.

The truth is, I don’t know. My heart hasn’t softened toward them, but something has changed since I’ve been here. A line is drawn that wasn’t there before. There’s a limit to what I’ll tolerate now.

I shrug, searching for my words, but I don’t know how else to explain it. “They’re my parents,” I tell him.

His eyes narrow as they all stare at me.

But that’s all I say.

I turn and continue up the stairs, almost wanting to smile a little. My mom and dad may or may not deserve my loyalty, but standing up feels kind of good.

I twist the wire, binding the twigs to the hanger I stole out of Jake’s closet. I only have plastic ones, so it was impossible to contort mine into a circle.

Using the cutters, I snip off the excess wire and smooth the evergreens around the wreath, smiling at how they fan out but in a way that’s a little chaotic and wild. Growing up, my house was professionally decorated for the holidays, lots of white, and I’m excited for the more natural Christmas-y feel. And smell.

I check the other bindings on the wreath and crawl on my hands and knees on the living room floor, the dogs passed out in front of the fire as I inspect the garland I made for the mantel with the branches Kaleb and I cut a few days ago. My fingers, the tips gold from the paint I used on the bookshelf tonight, peel back the foliage to see if more wire needs to be added.

But awareness pricks, and I dart my eyes up to see Jake watching me as he sits on the couch. His eyes hold mine for a moment and then he blinks and looks away, going back to watching the movie. I move my gaze to Kaleb in the chair, and while his eyes are on the movie, he’s aware of everything in the room except the television. His jaw is flexed, and my cheeks warm.