“Sorry,” I muttered as I accidentally yanked a section she was untangling.“These hands aren’t made for delicate work.”
She glanced up at me, that same assessing look I’d noticed before.“They seem to do just fine with the girls.”
The observation caught me off guard.I busied myself with straightening a particularly mangled section of garland.“Kids are tougher than they look.”I glanced up.“Sorry if I did something wrong.I don’t want to scare anyone here, but especially not the kids.”
“You didn’t,” she said quietly.“And you’re right.They are tough.”We worked for another minute before she spoke again, her voice pitched low so it was hard to hear her.“The girls have never had a real Christmas.Not one they can remember, anyway.”
I kept my movements steady, not wanting to interrupt this rare moment of volunteered information.“No tree?No presents?”
She shook her head, eyes fixed on her hands.“There was a tree the first Christmas after me and Andy got married, when the girls were just toddlers.They wouldn’t remember it.”Her fingers stilled on the garland, and when she continued, her voice had a distant quality to it.“Their father…” She faltered, then pushed on.“He destroyed any decorations I tried to put up.Said it was all a waste of money and in his way.He hated anything being what he considered ‘in his way.’Basically, anything unusual within his field of vision.Including, sometimes, me and the girls.”
The casual cruelty of it made something dark and familiar stir in my chest.I concentrated on breathing evenly, on keeping my hands gentle on the garland even as I imagined what I’d do to a man who robbed children of something as simple as Christmas decorations.
“The first year, he just threw everything in the trash,” she continued, her voice so soft I had to strain to hear it.“The second year, he broke the ornaments.One by one.Made us watch.”She swallowed hard.“After that, I stopped trying.”
A muscle worked in my jaw as I clenched my teeth against the words I wanted to say, against the rage that threatened to bubble up and spill over.I thought of Zelda’s face when she’d handed me that star ornament, of Kira’s careful retreat to the quiet space I’d made.Of all the small moments of trust they’d shown despite everything.
“This Christmas will be different,” I said finally, my voice deliberately gentle despite the storm gathering inside me.I wasn’t making empty promises.I meant every word.“Whatever you and the girls want to do for Christmas, whatever traditions you want to start, it’ll happen.”
She looked up at me then, and the naked hope in her eyes almost undid me.“I don’t even know what they’d like.What normal families do.”Her laugh was soft and bitter.“What kind of mother doesn’t know what her kids want for Christmas?”
“The kind who’s been fighting battles most people can’t imagine,” I replied immediately.“Your priority had to be keeping your daughters safe and getting them out of a horrible situation.And that’s the kind of mother you are.”
Color touched her cheeks, and she looked away.“Thank you,” she whispered.“For understanding.”
“I understand more than you might think.”I thought of Julie, of what happened to her, of my own hands covered in blood.Some kinds of understanding came at a high cost.
We lapsed back into silence, but it felt different now, like something had shifted between us.Not trust, exactly.Not yet.But something adjacent.I glanced across the room to where Kira carefully hung a candy cane on a lower branch of the tree.Zelda stood nearby, keeping watch as she always did, but her posture was less rigid than usual.Both girls looked like they were experiencing real enjoyment.
“They’re doing OK,” I said, nodding toward them.“Taking it at their own pace.”
Penny’s eyes softened as she watched her daughters.“I forgot they could look like that,” she said, her voice catching.“Just… like kids.Normal kids.”Her words pierced me with an unexpected ache.
We finished with the garland and carried it over to the tree.I reached up to drape it around the higher branches while Penny handled the lower sections.Working together, we created a spiral that wound from top to bottom.When the garland was secured, I stepped back, and our gazes met briefly.A kind of sad wistfulness and longing shone almost as brightly as the tears glistening in her eyes.I wanted to pull her into my arms and tell her everything would be all right because I was going to hunt down her soon-to-be-dead husband and kill him the same as I had Julie’s attacker…
I took a breath, needing to get myself under control.The last thing I wanted to do was let my emotions bleed through to my expression.Penny wouldn’t understand and I found the thought of her fearing me literally made me nauseous.I wanted to protect this woman.I wanted to protect her daughters.Sure, I felt something of that protectiveness toward everyone in Haven, but these three were different.I didn’t just want to keep them safe.I wanted the right to defend them.
I stilled, not wanting to catch Penny’s attention but needing to catch my breath after the thought dancing on the edge of awareness.The girls.Penny.All three of them were…mine.
The moment broke when I caught sight of Zelda whispering to Kira, their heads bent together in conspiratorial closeness.Kira’s eyes widened at whatever her sister was saying, then darted toward me before quickly looking away.Both girls seemed to reach some kind of agreement, nodding before approaching one of the decoration boxes.
They rummaged through it, pulling out several strands of tinsel and some colorful beaded garlands.Then, with what could only be described as mischievous grins, an expression I’d never seen on either of their faces, they approached me.
“What’s this?”I asked, immediately suspicious of the gleam in Zelda’s eyes.
“Come sit over here,” she commanded, taking my hand and leading me to a spot on the floor closer to the boxes of decoration where there was plenty of room.
Before I could ask why, Kira had darted behind me and draped a length of silver tinsel across my shoulders like a glittering cape.Zelda, bolder now, stepped forward and hung a string of red beads around my neck.
“What are you --” I began, but Kira cut me off with a giggle as she tossed another strand of tinsel over my head.
“You’re nearly as tall as the tree,” Zelda explained matter-of-factly, as if that clarified everything.“You need decorations too.”
I stood frozen, afraid that any movement might disrupt this fragile moment of play.The girls circled me, adding more tinsel to my arms, draping beads across my shoulders, even attempting to attach a small ornament to my beard.I must have looked ridiculous as the girls transformed me into a human Christmas tree, complete with what smelled like a candy cane now tucked behind my ear.
And then something unexpected happened.A laugh bubbled up from deep in my chest, a genuine sound of amusement I barely recognized as my own.The sensation was foreign but felt good.
The girls paused in their decorating efforts, startled by the sound.Then, miracle of miracles, they both smiled.Zelda, still obviously reserved but unable to not share our amusement, flashed a real, honest-to-God, smile.Kira’s grin spread across her face like a sunrise.
