Chapter 20
Ella
I wake to the sound of whispers outside the bedroom door, followed by a muffled giggle that can only be Nora’s. The soft pre-dawn light filtering through the curtains tells me it’s still early, that magical in-between hour of Christmas morning when the world feels suspended in possibility.
“Shhh,” I hear Kat stage-whisper. “We have to be quiet, or we’ll wake her up.”
“I think that’s the point of Christmas morning,” Kane rumbles, his deep voice carrying easily through the door. “To wake people up at ungodly hours.”
I smile into my pillow, listening to their failed attempts at stealth.
After our ski adventure yesterday, we returned to the lodge exhausted but happy, everyone collapsing into bed early after hanging our stockings and leaving cookies for Santa.
Nora had barely managed to brush her teeth before falling asleep, ski-flushed cheeks pressed against her pillow, still chattering about her “epic run” down the mountain.
The door creaks open, and I feign sleep, keeping my breathing deep and even. Tiny footsteps patter across the floor, and I feel the mattress dip as Nora climbs up.
“Mom,” she whispers directly into my ear. “Mom, wake up. It’s Christmas!”
I roll over slowly, blinking as if waking. “Mmm? What time is it?”
“It’s Christmas time!” Nora announces, bouncing slightly. Behind her, I see the rest of the family crowded in the doorway, all in pajamas, Kat wearing a ridiculous Santa hat complete with blinking lights.
“Merry Christmas, sleepyhead,” Declan says, raising a steaming mug in salute. “Coffee’s ready when you are.”
I sit up, pulling Nora into a hug. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart. Did Santa come?”
Her eyes widen. “YES! There are presents EVERYWHERE! And the stockings are all full, even Scout’s! And someone ate the cookies and drank the milk, and the reindeer food is gone from the porch!”
“Well, that sounds like pretty conclusive evidence,” I say seriously, reaching for my robe. “We’d better go investigate.”
Nora practically drags me from the bed, her excitement physically impossible to contain. The others part to let us through, each offering Christmas greetings as we pass. The hallway is lined with lit garland, casting a warm glow over everything.
When we reach the top of the stairs, I gasp along with Nora.
The great room below has been transformed overnight.
Twinkling lights reflect off the ornaments on the tree, but now there’s a sea of wrapped presents surrounding its base, spilling outward in a colorful tide.
The fireplace crackles with a fresh blaze, the stockings bulging with mysterious shapes.
Even the banister has been wrapped in fresh garland with red velvet bows that definitely weren’t there when we went to bed.
“When did you all do this?” I whisper to Kane, who’s appeared at my side.
He shrugs, looking pleased with himself. “Christmas magic. Also, Declan barely sleeps, and Kat has the energy of a caffeinated squirrel.”
“It’s beautiful,” I murmur, feeling a lump form in my throat.
I’ve always tried to make Christmas special for Nora, but our celebrations have been modest—just the two of us in our small cottage.
This... this is the kind of Christmas I dreamed of as a child, locked away in that isolated Irish cottage with only occasional visits from distant Tomas.
“Can we go down?” Nora asks, practically vibrating with anticipation.
“Of course,” I laugh, and she’s off like a shot, taking the stairs two at a time despite my reflexive “Careful!”
We all follow at a more sedate pace, though Kat manages to slide down the last section of banister with a whoop that makes Declan roll his eyes fondly.
The great room is even more magical up close. Someone—probably Kori, given the artistic arrangement—has sorted the presents into color-coordinated piles for each person. Scout lies beside the fire wearing a ridiculous reindeer headband, looking surprisingly content with his festive indignity.
“Stockings first, then breakfast, then presents,” Declan announces, clearly establishing the order of operations. “Family tradition.”
“Since when?” I ask, amused by his authoritative tone.
“Since right now,” he replies with a wink. “I’m making it up as we go.”
Nora doesn’t need to be told twice. She makes a beeline for her stocking, carefully unhooking it from the mantel. The rest of us follow suit, creating a circle of pajama-clad MacGallans around the fire.
“Youngest goes first,” Kat declares, nudging Nora. “Show us what Santa brought!”
Nora needs no encouragement. She upends her stocking, gasping with delight as treasures tumble out—chocolate coins wrapped in gold foil, tiny, wrapped packages, an orange in the toe (a tradition I started our first Christmas together), and a small velvet pouch that catches her attention immediately.
“What’s this?” she asks, carefully untying the drawstring.
“Only one way to find out,” I encourage, as curious as she is.
She tips the pouch, and a delicate silver bracelet falls into her palm. It’s a charm bracelet, with a single charm already attached—a tiny silver star that matches the one from Rory’s puzzle box.
“It’s beautiful,” she breathes, turning it to catch the light. “Look, Mom! It matches my necklace!”
“So, it does,” I say, glancing at Rory, who gives me a subtle nod. The coordination couldn’t be a coincidence. “Shall I help you put it on?”
As I fasten the bracelet around her small wrist, I’m struck by how perfectly it fits her—delicate but strong, with room for more charms as she grows. A bracelet that can evolve with her, marking milestones and memories.
“My turn!” Kat announces, diving into her stocking with childlike enthusiasm.
One by one, we all explore our stockings, exclaiming over thoughtfully chosen small gifts—luxury hand cream for Lana, who complains about dry skin from gaming, a rare fountain pen for Connor, who collects them, artisanal hot chocolate bombs for Kori, who has mentioned missing her mother’s recipe.
My own stocking yields unexpected treasures—artist-quality-colored pencils in a tin case, a small leather-bound sketchbook, lavender hand lotion from a boutique in town I’ve admired but never splurged on.
And at the very bottom, wrapped in tissue paper, a delicate ornament—a glass globe containing what appears to be a perfect miniature of our cottage, snow falling gently when shaken.
“This is...” I trail off, staring at the exquisite detail.
“Kat found the artist,” Kane explains, watching my reaction. “Sent her photos of your place. Do you like it?”
“It’s perfect,” I whisper, turning it to see every angle of our tiny home captured in glass and magic. I blink back sudden tears, overwhelmed by the thoughtfulness.
“Breakfast!” Declan announces, saving me from embarrassing myself. “I smell cinnamon rolls.”
The kitchen reveals another Christmas miracle—a feast laid out on the counter, far more elaborate than anything we could have prepared this morning.
Freshly baked cinnamon rolls dripping with icing, a breakfast casserole steaming in a ceramic dish, fruit arranged in festive patterns, pitchers of orange juice, and coffee carafes.
“Helen dropped this off at dawn,” Mia explains, seeing my confusion. “Apparently, she does this every year for special guests at the lodge.”
“That woman is an angel,” Rory declares, loading his plate with enthusiasm.
We eat quickly, Nora barely touching her food in her excitement to get back to the presents. I can’t blame her—I’m feeling the same childlike anticipation, something I haven’t experienced in decades.
When we return to the great room, Declan once again takes charge. “We’ll take turns. Youngest to oldest, one gift at a time.” He hands Nora a large box wrapped in paper covered with prancing reindeer. “You start, princess.”
For the next hour, the room fills with exclamations of delight, laughter, and the sound of tearing paper.
Nora’s pile grows steadily—books, art supplies, a telescope “for stargazing from the meadow,” a handmade quilt with constellation patterns that Wren apparently commissioned from a local artisan.
My own gifts leave me speechless—a professional-grade camera from Declan “to capture memories properly,” a set of watercolor paints I’ve been eyeing for months from Kane, a weekend spa package “for when you need a break” from Lana and Wren.
But it’s the final gift —a small envelope passed to me by Declan —that truly takes my breath away.
“This is from all of us,” he says quietly. “We wanted you to have options.”
Inside is a legal document—ownership papers for my cottage, transferred entirely into my name. No more renting, no more temporary feeling. A home, truly ours.
“We know how much that place means to you and Nora,” Kane explains, watching my face carefully. “Now no one can ever take it from you.”
I press my hand to my mouth, unable to speak past the lump in my throat. The security this represents—the freedom to plant deep roots without fear—is beyond any material gift they could have given me.
“Thank you,” I finally manage, looking around at these siblings who were strangers just months ago. “All of you.”
“There’s more,” Declan says, nodding toward the envelope.
I look down and notice a second document beneath the first. This one makes my heart skip a beat—passports. New identities. A backup plan.
“Just in case,” he says softly, for my ears only. “We hope you never need them. But if you do...”
“They’re ready,” I finish, understanding perfectly. My eyes meet his, then Kane’s. They haven’t forgotten the danger, haven’t dismissed my fears. They’ve chosen to give us Christmas first, while quietly preparing for whatever comes after.
It’s the most thoughtful gift anyone has ever given me—acknowledging both my need for roots and my potential need for flight.
“One more present!” Nora announces, pulling a clumsily wrapped package from behind the couch. “This one’s from me to everyone!”
We watch as she presents her mysterious gift to the room at large.
The paper falls away to reveal a framed drawing—a family portrait done in Nora’s distinctive style.
There we all are, standing in front of the lodge, even Scout at our feet.
But what catches my breath is how she’s drawn us—all holding hands, connected in an unbroken chain. Family.
“It’s us,” she explains unnecessarily, beaming with pride. “All the MacGallans together for Christmas.”
“It’s perfect,” Declan says, his voice suspiciously rough. “The best present of all.”
As everyone admires Nora’s artwork, exclaiming over details and likeness, I slip away to the window, needing a moment to compose myself.
The view outside is postcard-perfect—fresh snow falling gently, blanketing the world in pristine white.
A white Christmas, because of course it would be.
The universe seems determined to make this day absolutely perfect.
A screech has me turning around to see Kat hitting Rory.