Bonus Scene
Ember
Christmas Day—Six Years Later
The house is silent, save for the faint hum of the heater clicking on and the soft, snuffling breaths of our two little ones sleeping down the hall. I glance at the clock. It’s five in the morning. Five. A good hour, maybe two, before they’ll be up and racing down the hallway to tear through the presents that have been calling to them from under the tree all week. But for now, all is calm.
Or at least it’s calm until I hear a telltale “pssst” from beside me.
I turn in bed to find Edward grinning at me like a kid who’s found his own pile of gifts. “Merry Christmas, Firefly,” he whispers, pulling me in for a quick kiss.
“Merry Christmas,” I whisper back, leaning into him and savoring the last quiet moments of the morning.
But then, as if on cue, a door creaks open down the hall, and tiny, barely-awake footsteps pad across the floor.
“Mama! Daddy! Santa came!” our daughter, Sophie, announces, her little face glowing as she pokes her head around the door. She’s wearing her new penguin pajamas—matching ones we all wore for a photo last night—and she’s clutching her blanket, the one with all the frayed edges that she refuses to let us replace.
“Hey, munchkin. Merry Christmas,” Edward says, pulling her up into the bed and giving her a quick tickle.
She squeals, squirming out of his grasp, eyes wide with excitement. “Merry Christmas, Mama and Daddy!” She practically vibrates, her voice a high-pitched whisper. “Can we wake up Jack now? We have to show him the presents!”
Before we can answer, Sophie hops down from the bed, making a beeline for her little brother’s room, her whispers barely a whisper at all. “Jack, wake up! It’s Christmas! Santa brought us presents!”
A sleepy groan from down the hall tells us Jack’s barely halfway out of his dreams, but it only takes a second for the word “presents” to register. Suddenly, we hear tiny feet hit the floor and the pitter-patter of a very eager four-year-old racing down the hallway.
“Mama! Daddy! Let’s go! Let’s go!” Jack shouts, his voice thick with sleep but his enthusiasm unmistakable. He’s still rubbing his eyes when he crashes into our room, wheat-blond hair sticking up in all directions.
I swing my feet out of bed and stretch, sharing a glance with Edward. “Well, it looks like the calm part of Christmas morning is officially over,” I say, trying not to laugh as Sophie drags Jack by the arm toward the living room, practically vibrating with the anticipation of ripping open every present in sight.
Edward and I exchange a knowing grin. “Here we go,” he says, grabbing his phone to film what’s bound to be a Christmas morning for the ages.
As we shuffle into the living room, I catch sight of the tree, softly lit with the few strands that survived a year’s worth of toddler adventures. Ornaments dangle in all sorts of directions, a few missing entirely thanks to Sophie’s “decorating” style, but it’s perfect. Piles of presents sit under the tree, and the stockings we hung last night brim with treats and little surprises, all adding to the magic of the morning.
Sophie’s eyes are practically bugging out of her head as she hops from one foot to the other, her hands pressed together in anticipation. “Mama, can we open them now? Pleeeease?”
“Yes, but one at a time,” I say, knowing my words are lost on them. Sophie and Jack eye the gifts like two puppies staring down a giant bowl of treats.
Jack’s already tearing into a package before I even finish my sentence. Wrapping paper flies in all directions, and the living room quickly looks like a Christmas war zone. He pulls out a new set of dinosaur pajamas, which he promptly ignores in favor of grabbing another gift.
“Pajamas, huh?” Edward whispers to me, trying not to laugh. “Guess that’s one for next Christmas.”
Meanwhile, Sophie unwraps a doll she’d been hinting at for weeks. She holds it up, eyes wide with joy, before hugging it so tightly I’m half-worried the poor doll’s stuffing will pop out.
“Oh, my doll! Santa got me the doll I wanted! And look, Mama, she’s got curly hair like me!”
“Must be the magic of Christmas,” I say with a wink, but she’s already onto her next present.
Amid the wrapping paper chaos, Jack suddenly stops, his eyes widening as he pulls out a mini drum set—the one Edward bought on a whim when he thought it’d be funny to have a little “musician” in the family. I shoot Edward a look that could probably melt the North Pole, but he laughs and shrugs.
“Jack,” Edward says, trying to keep a straight face, “show us what you’ve got!”
Jack doesn’t need any encouragement. He clambers onto the tiny stool, sticks in hand, and starts drumming with all the enthusiasm a four-year-old can muster. The sound echoes through the room, loud and relentless, each beat reverberating through my brain.
“Wow! That’s…amazing, buddy,” I say, wincing as he bangs on the cymbal like he’s hammering a nail into solid steel.
Sophie watches, envious, and then decides her new doll is also a drummer, giving it an enthusiastic clapping beat to Jack’s increasingly energetic bangs.
Edward leans over, yelling in my ear, “So, how many seconds before you hide the drum set in the garage?”
“Three, maybe four,” I shout.
We laugh, watching our kids as they throw themselves wholeheartedly into every present and every second of Christmas morning.
As the unwrapping frenzy continues, Edward hands me a small, wrapped box. I look at him, raising an eyebrow. “What’s this?”
“Open it and see,” he says, grinning.
I unwrap it to find a delicate silver necklace with a tiny charm—a silver firefly with four birthstones embedded in it: his, mine, Sophie’s, and Jack’s. My heart does a little flip, and I blink back tears, running my fingers over the stones. It’s simple, sweet, and everything I didn’t know I wanted.
“Merry Christmas, Firefly,” he whispers, leaning over to kiss me.
I slip the necklace on, touched beyond words. “Thank you, darling,” I whisper back. “I love it.”
The morning continues with more laughter, presents, and a lot more drumming than I ever could’ve anticipated. Eventually, Edward rounds up the kids and brings them into the kitchen to help make breakfast. By “help,” I mean they lick every spoonful of batter they can get their hands on. Jack somehow manages to drop an egg on the floor, but we end up with pancakes, eggs, and a huge mess that Edward promises to clean up later.
Finally, when the last present has been unwrapped and we’re all sitting around the table in our pajamas, I look around at my little family—Sophie and Jack giggling over their syrup-covered hands, Edward sneaking more whipped cream onto his pancakes, everyone a little sticky, a little messy, and very, very happy.
“So,” I say, smiling as I catch Edward’s eye. “Best Christmas ever?”
He grins, nodding. “Absolutely. Although”—he glances at Jack’s drum set in the corner—“if Santa has any mercy, he’ll skip the musical instruments next year.”
Sophie claps her hands, looking up at us with a serious expression. “No, Daddy! I want a piano next year. Like a real one.”
I stifle a laugh, glancing at Edward. “Looks like you’ve started something, Mr. Drummer Dad.”
He sighs, shaking his head. “Guess I did. Well, we’ll see, Soph. Maybe Santa will bring a piano if you’re extra good.”
Sophie beams, and Jack looks up, still clutching his drumsticks. “And I want a guitar.”
Edward groans, but I can’t stop smiling. Because this is it—Christmas morning in our home, complete with sticky faces, ambitious musical plans, and a heap of love. It’s messy and loud and absolutely perfect.
As I gaze at my family, I realize that leaving Las Vegas all those years ago was never about running away. It was about running toward this man, this love, this extraordinary forever we’ve created together.
It was the best decision of my life.