Maggie Hall pushed open the door of her home, trying to balance the shopping bags from her trip into Beverly Hills. She could hear her husband, Will, bellowing from the study, the deep voice that had made him famous, along with his handsome face, was telling someone that he needed two rooms at a hotel.

      Maggie dropped the bags of Christmas presents by the decorated fir tree in the foyer. The top of the tree nearly reached the second floor of the high ceilings, its gold star at the summit, perched at a peculiar angle.

      The tree had been decorated by a ‘Holiday Consultant’, hired by Will, even though she had said she wanted something smaller, more personal, for their little family.

      Elliot, her stepson, came out of the kitchen and rolled his eyes at Maggie. ‘Dad’s been yelling for at least ten minutes,’ he said.

      Maggie reached out and pushed some of his dark hair away from the teenager’s eyes.

      ‘How are you feeling today?’ she asked.

      Elliot looked down and scuffed his bare feet on the marble floor. ‘Same as ever, but not too bad.’

      Maggie nodded and glanced at the tree.

      Of all the things she wanted for Elliot this Christmas she wouldn’t give him any broken promises. Waiting on the donor list for a new heart wasn’t for the faint-hearted, she thought, not registering her unintended pun.

      Every time the phone rang, she held her breath, wondering if someone else’s tragedy would be Elliot’s miracle.

      ‘Who is he yelling at?’ she asked as she moved towards the door of the study.

      ‘Zoe,’ Elliot said and went to the bags, trying to peek into them.

      ‘Step away from the bags,’ she threatened playfully as Will came into the foyer.

      ‘Hi,’ she said politely.

      They had had a huge fight before she left the house, about Elliot of course, it was always about Elliot.

      Will was always trying to control his son with his health, social life, what he ate and when he slept.

      She knew she didn’t have to be Doctor Phil to understand that this was his way of trying to control the illness, but it meant that Elliot was given no freedom, not even to see his friends for a weekend away, which was the topic of their argument.

      ‘Elliot and I are going to Mexico for Christmas,’ he said, walking past her and ignoring her greeting.

      ‘What? Why?’ asked Maggie. ‘I don’t want to spend Christmas in Mexico.’

      ‘I didn’t ask if you did,’ said Will, as he opened the refrigerator door. Their housekeeper, Dolores, stepped into the kitchen and fled at the sight of Will, not that Maggie blamed her one little bit.

      ‘You’re planning on spending Christmas without me?’ she asked, trying to understand.

      ‘I think we need some time apart,’ he said, taking a bottle of water and opening it forcefully, small drops spilling onto the floor.

      ‘It was just a fight, Will, we should be together.’

      Will took a long sip and then put the water on the bench.

      ‘I want to spend some time with my son,’ he said, staring daggers at her.

      Our son, she wanted to remind him. She had been Elliot’s stepmother for eight years and she was more of a mother than his own biological mother had been, abandoning him for a guru in India when Elliot was diagnosed with a rare heart disease.

      Maggie felt tears well in her eyes. ‘I don’t think you mean that, I think you’re just trying to hurt me,’ she said calmly.

      ‘I don’t care what you think. I’m going to Mexico early, before the shoot, to spend some time with El, and he will stay with me while I shoot the film.’

      ‘But that’s for six weeks, he can’t be away for six weeks,’ she cried.

      ‘Why not? I’ve spoken to his doctors, they said he was fine to fly and I can take all his equipment with us. It’s not a backwater.’

      ‘But what about me? What about my Christmas?’ she said, feeling a teardrop fall, joining the spills of water on the floor.

      ‘I don’t give a crap about your Christmas, Maggie, you need to think about what I want and what Elliot wants for a change.’

      Maggie turned to ask Elliot but he, like the housekeeper, had scurried away from Will’s firing line.

      ‘He doesn’t want to spend it in Mexico, having you control every single aspect of his day.’

      ‘I don’t care,’ said Will as he moved towards the door. ‘We’re leaving tonight.’

      Maggie watched him leave the room, knowing it was useless to try and change his mind. Then she took a dishcloth from the sink and wiped up the watery mess he had left between them on the floor.

      ***

      Pulling up at the front of a quietly stylish house, with the night lighting showing off the lush tropical plants, Maggie dialed a number from her car.

      ‘Zo, it’s me, let me in, I’m out the front,’ she said, trying to steady her voice.

      The sound of the automatic garage door started and,