The Family They Chose by Nancy Robards Thompson

back at awkward square one. Another thought that remained constant in his mind as he sorted out everything was that he was glad there were no children involved.
    So, despite his earlier, impulsive change of heart, essentially they were back at the starting line. He’d have to insist that they mend their marriage before they brought a child into their world. He’d grown up in a broken home and, above all else, he’d vowed to never put a child of his own through that hell.
    His father had strayed and his mother had put him out. Had Olivia been talking about having his child one minute and then turning to another man the next?
    No!
    He wouldn’t jump to conclusions. He wouldn’t trip down that slippery path, he reminded himself.
    The car turned onto his street and stopped in front of his house—their house.
    He’d go inside, hear Olivia out and then they’d decide together if their house was still a home.
     
    Olivia felt bare without her pearls. They’d been a gift from Jamison and in some ways they were like a link to him when he was away. Wearing them made her feel connected to him. They made her feel safe. She’d taken them to the jeweler to be restrung as soon as she’d left the Children’s Home, but because of the holidays, they wouldn’t be ready until next week.
    She put her hand up to her naked throat. She’d tried other necklaces, but none felt right. Even though she felt bare without them, and she wanted to look her best for Jamison, she felt better with nothing at her neck than something that was not her pearls.
    Maybe she’d opt for a brooch instead. She pulled a white-gold snowflake pin out of her jewelry box and was just about ready to pin it to her emerald-green cashmere sweater when she heard the alarm signal that someone had just opened the front door.
    Jamison?
    Her heart raced. She was as nervous as a high school girl awaiting her first date—and not being onehundred percent sure the guy of her dreams would actually show to pick her up.
    She breathed a sigh of relief that he was finally home. But that relief was soon pinched by the ugly reminder that for days Jamison hadn’t even had the time or desire to call her.
    She considered pretending nothing was wrong, so as not to spoil their time together. Really, the last thing she wanted was another fight. But she knew herself well enough to realize that it would be best to get it off her mind first thing, stating her case plainly and without drama rather than letting it come out explosively at a random moment.
    She wasn’t being a nag. She had a valid reason to be upset. First, work had preempted their holiday—and she’d been understanding. But then, he had taken her compliance for granted and decided he didn’t even need to talk to her.
    Enough was enough.
    Her hand was shaking too badly to pin on the brooch. So she returned it to her jewelry box and headed downstairs to say her piece.
    She found him sitting in the living room. He hadn’t fixed himself a drink as she’d imagined he would. He was simply sitting there in the overstuffed burgundy chair with his elbows braced on the arms and his chin in his hand. A large manila envelope lay in his lap.
    He didn’t smile when she walked into the room. He just sat there watching her with a neutral expression.
    “Well, welcome home, stranger.” Her tone was a touch more sarcastic than she’d intended, but he didn’t seem to notice. He just sat there with a deadpan expression that was starting to annoy her.
    She walked over and sat on the edge of the chintz sofa that was closest to him. His chin didn’t move from his hand, but his gaze followed her.
    “Jamison, look, I don’t want to fight with you, but I think we need to have a little chat and clear up a few things before we do anything else tonight.”
    “You’re right.” Jamison reached over and set the manila envelope on the coffee table in front of her.
    “What’s this?” she asked.
    He glowered at her “Why don’t you open it