“It’s a long drive over snowy mountain passes,” I said.

“His family is rich, proud, and not at all prepared for four eight-year-old boys to walk through their front door on Christmas Eve.”

“We have our matching navy blazers,” Sam said.

“And our shoes are polished.”

“If we stay here in Colorado Springs, he gets to keep believing his own story,” Lucas said.

“He gets to have his party and pretend we don’t exist.”

Jack reached over my arm and pointed his small finger at the rectangular reply box at the bottom of the email.