I came home unannounced on Christmas Eve. Found my daughter shivering outside in the 1.7°C cold, without a blanket. And that was only the beginning of the nightmare.

Snow was falling lightly over the small suburban neighborhood of Maple Grove. Warm lamps glowed from windows, wreaths hung on doors, and laughter echoed from family gatherings. Christmas Eve was supposed to be a night of warmth, comfort, and love.

But not for me. Not anymore.

My name is Michael Turner, and I had just returned from an overseas business trip—two weeks earlier than planned. I didn’t tell anyone, wanting to surprise my wife, Lydia, and our ten-year-old daughter, Emily. I imagined walking through the door to joyful screams, hugs, maybe hot chocolate waiting.