“I’m hanging this up,” he said. “Like… immediately.”
Later, bundled in coats and scarves, we walked through town. Lily ran ahead, kicking snow, narrating her every move.
People waved as we passed. Some stopped to talk. The reactions were cautious at first, polite but measured. Maplewood never rushed to embrace change.
But there was warmth there too. Familiar faces softened when they saw Lily between us. Conversations lingered longer. Smiles held.
Mrs. Calder from the bakery pressed cookies into Lily’s hands and told her she was getting tall. Mr. Henson tipped his hat to Ethan and said it was good to see him home, his voice sincere.
Home.
I watched Ethan absorb it all, his posture slowly easing. He squeezed my hand once, quick and private, and I squeezed back.
At the Walkers’ house, the warmth hit us the moment we stepped inside. The smell of pine and cinnamon and something roasting filled the air. Voices overlapped, laughter spilling from room to room.
Sophie spotted me immediately and made a beeline across the living room.
“Well,” she said, looking me up and down with exaggerated scrutiny, “you look disgustingly happy.”
I laughed. “Merry Christmas to you too.”
She leaned in and lowered her voice. “I knew it,” she said. “I called it months ago. You didn’t believe me.”
“You call everything,” I said.
“Yes, but I was right about this.” She glanced over my shoulder at Ethan and Lily, who were being ambushed by cousins. “About him staying.”
I followed her gaze. “It hasn’t been easy.”
She softened. “I know. But it’s good. I can see it on you.”
Before I could respond, Emma appeared beside us, clearly several glasses of wine past subtle, her eyes already shining. She pulled me into a hug that was fierce and familiar, the kind that suggested she might not let go anytime soon.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” she said, her voice thick.
“I wouldn’t miss it,” I said, patting her back, partly in comfort and partly to support her.
She pulled back and looked at me and her smile wobbled. “You look happy,” she said. “I haven’t seen you like this in a long time.”
Emotion pressed at my throat. “I feel happy.”
Her gaze drifted to Ethan, who was crouched down talking to Lily at eye level, patient and completely absorbed. Emma sighed, dramatic and heartfelt.
Emma’s hand went to her mouth.
“I worried,” she said quietly. “I worried so much. About all of you.”
“I know.”
“But seeing this,” she said, wiping at her eyes, “it feels right. And if I cry again,” she continued, “you need to take my wine away.”
Dinner was loud and crowded and perfect. Plates passed. Stories shared. Lily bounced from lap to lap, accepted everywhere she went.
At one point, I caught Ethan watching the room, his expression thoughtful. When he noticed me looking, he smiled, small and sure.
Later, when the house had emptied and the night had settled in, we drove home through softly falling snow. Lily slept in the backseat, her head tipped to the side, her gloves still on.
Inside, we carried her upstairs together and tucked her into bed. Ethan lingered in the doorway for a moment after we turned out the light.
