A Christmas Mishearing

On Christmas Day, my husband Greg was on the phone for a long time.
Twice.
With his young friend, “Sita.”

Sita’s been in turmoil since her recent divorce.  Greg was doing what he does best…listening, supporting, being kind.  When the call ended, I assumed that was it.  Christmas complete.

Later, I heard him talking to her… again.

Nothing exploded.  No alarms went off.
But my brain, which had been peacefully sipping cocoa, quietly sat up and said, “Interesting.”

I said nothing.  It was Christmas.  A merry one.  And I didn’t feel like unwrapping my own suspicions.

The next morning, in the kitchen, Greg said something that landed oddly in my ears:
“I wish I were home alone yesterday.”

I froze.  Then I repeated it, gently.
“You wish you were home alone?”

He immediately clarified.
“No, Sita was home alone yesterday.”

Oh.
She was home alone.  On Christmas Day.  Newly divorced.

That’s sad.  Truly sad.  And suddenly, I felt embarrassed for where my thoughts had wandered.  My husband hadn’t been having secret conversations—he’d been offering companionship to someone who needed it.

Still… Why had I heard it that way?

Was that what I wanted to hear?  No.
Was it something I was afraid of hearing?  Maybe.

Lately, I haven’t spent much time with Greg.  Of course, there’s work.  But after that, projects, plans, goals, activities…

Somewhere in there, my husband got moved to “background app.”

So today, when Greg comes home, I’m going to look him in the eyes and say something simple.  Not dramatic.  Not loaded.

“I’m so happy, we’re home…together.”

Oftentimes the story we tell ourselves says less about the other person…and more about what we quietly miss.

This Christmas gave me a small, generous reminder:
Before jumping to conclusions,
Pause…
Listen again…
Say the simple thing out loud.

“I’m so happy we’re home together.”

That’s all the story needs.