So why did my apartment feel so empty?
I forced myself through my morning routine. Shower and coffee. Everything felt mechanical, like I was going through the motions without actually being present. The woman who believed in Christmas magic with the fervor of a true believer was not around today.
By the time I made it to the tree farm, the morning rush was already in full swing. Families wandered between the rows of Fraser firs and Douglas firs. Kids raced ahead of their parents with the single-minded determination that only came with the promise of finding the perfect Christmas tree. Christmas music played from the speakers just like always.
The crowd should have lifted my spirits. If every day had been like this, we wouldn’t be shutting down. But it all felt muted. I couldn’t bring myself to hum along to Jingle Bells. My bells were in no mood for jingling.
“You look like someone stole your Christmas cookies,” Emmy said when I approached the hot chocolate stand. She was bundled up in a red wool coat and matching hat, her cheeks pink from the cold and her eyes bright with concern.
“Just tired. Long night.”
“Did you get any sleep?”
“Not really. Kent came by last night.”
Her lip curled. “Asshole. Did you kick dirt on his fancy shoes?”
“No, but he left this morning,” I said, trying to keep my voice light. “So that’s that.”
“Good,” Emmy said fiercely.
“Let’s not talk about it,” I said.
“Okay. But if you change your mind and want to vent about what a jerk he was, I’m here.”
I nodded gratefully and threw myself into work with the kind of desperate energy that came from needing to keep my mind occupied. It helped the farm had a decent amount of people for a change. It gave me plenty to do.
I walked families through rows of trees. This was what mattered. These moments of joy and connection and tradition. Not some corporate acquisition deal. Not the smooth promises of a man in an expensive coat who saw dollar signs where I saw home. I found myself trying to savor every moment. I would never do this again after Christmas Eve.
Around noon, Emmy’s father showed up in full Santa regalia. He wandered through the trees and surprised the kids. He put little toys in various hiding places for the kids to find. The kids shrieked with excitement while their parents smiled and snapped photos.
I watched from a distance, feeling my chest crack opent. This was why we did what we did. Not for the money—Godknew there wasn’t much of that—but for these moments. For the chance to give the kids memories they would cherish forever.
Kent would never understand that. To him, this place was just real estate, just numbers on a spreadsheet. The thought made my stomach turn.
“Don’t let him win,” I whispered to myself. “Don’t let him take this away from you.”
He was not going to ruin the last weeks.
I spent the rest of the afternoon throwing myself into the Christmas spirit. I forced myself to sing along to the carols playing over the speakers.
During a lull around three o’clock, when most of the families had headed home, I wandered over to Emmy’s hot cocoa booth again.
“Finally, things have slowed down,” I said, settling onto the wooden stool behind the counter.
“Perfect time for a break.” She poured two cups of cocoa without asking, handing me one with extra marshmallows the way she’d been doing since we were kids. “So tell me about last night. You said Kent came by?”
I wrapped my hands around the warm cup, letting the heat seep into my fingers. “He was drunk. Wanted to apologize.”
“And you let him? You little slut.” She smiled to show she was joking.
“I let him sleep on my couch.” I knew I sounded a little defensive. “He couldn’t drive, and I was afraid if he stayed at the lodge, Dad would actually kill him.”
Emmy stared at me over her cocoa. “You should have let him.”
“Emmy.”
“I’m serious, Sylvie. Your dad should have beaten the crap out of that lying piece of garbage. Maybe if more people held guys like Kent accountable for their actions, they wouldn’t thinkthey could just waltz into places like this and destroy people’s lives for profit.”
