I always assumed my husband and I shared everything.

At least, that was my belief until Christmas Day, when everything I thought I knew crumbled around me.

“Andrea, I need to tell you something,” Shawn said, his fingers drumming nervously on the kitchen counter. “My boss called. He needs me to handle an emergency client situation in Boston.”

“During Christmas?” my eyes widened.

“You’ve never had to travel on Christmas before.” I curled my hands around my coffee mug to stay warm. “Couldn’t someone else handle it?”

“I’ll make it up to you, I promise. We’ll have our own Christmas when I get back.”

I attempted a smile but disappointment weighed heavily on my chest. “When are you leaving?”

Tonight. I’m so sorry, honey.”

That evening, as I helped Shawn pack, memories of our time together flooded back to me.

His smile had faded slightly. “I’m so sorry about this trip, darling.”

“I know!” I sat at the edge of the bed. “It’s just… Christmas won’t be the same without you.”

I leaned on his shoulder. “Promise you’ll call?”

“Every chance I get. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

As I watched him drive away, something niggled in the back of my mind.

But I pushed that notion away. It was Shawn, after all. My name is Shawn. And the man I trusted the most in the world.

Shawn called about 9 p.m., and my phone lit up. My heart leaped.

“Merry Christmas, beautiful,” he said, his tone strangely strained.

“Merry Christmas! How’s Boston? Did you get the client situation sorted out?”

“It’s… uh… good. Listen, I can’t really talk right now. I have to go—”

“I have to go!” he practically shouted. “Emergency meeting!”