“Actually, I can do that while I’m sitting on a plane for a few hours. Right now, there’s something else I’d rather do.” He winked.
“I’ll race you to the bedroom.”
A few days later...
The fluorescent lights of Mercy General had never exactly screamed festive, but Freya had done her best. Battery-operated candles flickered on the windowsills, casting gentle shadows over bowls of cinnamon-scented potpourri. Devon had printed a banner that read BLESSED YULE in metallic gold, which they’d tacked above the headboard of Esther’s hospital bed. Brianna had made a miniature altar on the rolling tray table, complete with tiny holly branches, a quartz point, and the world’s smallest Yule log—complete with glitter, of course, because—Brianna.
Esther, propped up with pillows and a festive red blanket, surveyed the room with misty eyes. “This is the nicest damn hospital room I’ve ever seen,” she rasped.
“Well, we aim to please,” Freya said, placing a hand on her grandmother’s frail shoulder. “And we brought wassail. Don’t tell the nurses.”
“I already bribed one of them with sugar cookies,” Brianna added.
Devon handed around mismatched mugs, and for a moment, everyone stood in a loose circle—Freya, Devon, Brianna, Esther—holding steaming cups of spiced cider, the smell of cloves and orange peel cutting through the antiseptic tang in the air.
Freya led the blessing. “To the returning light, to love found, to family—chosen and blood—and to the resilience that got us here. Blessed Yule.”
They echoed her. “Blessed Yule.”
And for the first time in a long time, Freya felt the quiet click of wholeness settle into place. Her roots. Her people. Her strange, hilarious, half-chaotic coven of a family.
Later, while Esther dozed and the nurses pretended not to notice Brianna enchanting the heart rate monitors with “a spell for better rhythm,” Devon slipped his hand into Freya’s.
“I never thought a hospital room could feel like home,” he said quietly.
Freya looked at her sister curled up on the bedside chair, Esther snoring softly, and the twinkle lights Devon had insisted on hanging around the IV pole.
“It’s not the place,” she whispered back. “It’s the people.”
“I can’t think of any better people to spend a holiday with. Maybe next year we’ll all get together at our new house.”
“What new house?”
“The one we’ll buy with the proceeds from my condo in Glastonbury.”
She slipped her arm around his waist and lay her head on his shoulder. “I’d love that.” She tipped up her face to catch his eye. “And I love you.”
He smiled and kissed her temple. “I love you too.”
Yule. One year later.
Snow blanketedthe coastal town in a quiet hush, the kind that made every sound seem sacred. Freya stood at the cottage window, watching the sun reach its apex, dancing across the snowdrifts while the scent of cinnamon and turkey drifted from the kitchen. For the first Yule in two years, the house didn’t feel empty.
Brianna was back—alive, laughing, and currently trying to wrestle a garland of evergreen away from their grandmother, who was insisting it needed to hangsymmetrically. Devon was by the hearth, coaxing the fire to life while pretending not to eavesdrop on the family’s good-natured squabble. His cane leaned forgotten against the wall. He hadn’t needed it in months.
“Grandma, if you keep fussing with that thing, it’s going to look like a hedge attack,” Brianna said, hands on her hips.
Esther sniffed, unimpressed. “If you want chaos, go hang your decorations in your own room. The Yule garland represents renewal and harmony, not teenage rebellion.”
“I’m thirty,” Brianna muttered.
Freya just smiled and added another log to the fire. “Enough, you two. The Yule Gods are going to revoke our invite if we keep bickering.”
That earned her a laugh from Devon, who rose to his feet. “Are we finally ready for this official Wiccan ceremony, or should I make more tea?”
“Both,” Freya said. “Always both.” She gestured toward the table, where the Yule log cake sat beside a pile of plates, napkins, cider, and side dishes that Esther had been strategically repositioning all morning.
They gathered around the hearth, as tradition demanded. Esther lit the kindling first, then a candle, her voice steady and rich as she spoke the old blessing. “Light returns. May warmth and joy return with it.”
