Chapter 12
Next year, we’ll be happy again
Cecily
“Here.”
I smile faintly and take the mug from my father’s hands. “Thank you.”
The first sip burns a little—just like it used to when I was a kid, too impatient to wait for it to cool. It tastes exactly the same. Sweet, creamy, a little too rich. Comfort in liquid form.
“I’ve never had hot chocolate as good as yours,” I tell him, a small laugh escaping me. “I’ve tried to recreate your recipe a dozen times, but it’s never the same.”
Dad smiles, kisses my forehead, and sits beside me on the couch. Outside, it’s dead quiet. The trees are stripped bare, waiting for the snow.
“It’s the love of a father,” he says, drawing me into his arms. “You’ll always be my little girl. That’s why it always tastes the same.”
I rest my head against his shoulder, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart. He’s right. I’ll always be his little girl, the one who ran to him for everything, the one who believed his arms could fix the world.
I love my mom, I always have. But Dad and I... we’ve always shared a language of our own. Books, words, the easy comfort of just sitting in silence together. Maybe that’s why he sees me so clearly, even when I wish he didn't.
He built his career in academia, traveling across the country for lectures and conferences, always motivated more by his passion for teaching than for recognition.
From time to time, former colleagues or students continue to reach out, just to catch up or ask for advice.
He’s the kind of man people remember kindly, even after time and distance.
I went into Media, Culture, and Communication at NYU because of him, but also because it felt like the only way to make sense of the world. A way to translate the things people feel but never say out loud.
“Do you think he’ll come?” Dad asks, his hand warm on my shoulder.
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “I hope so. Even if the kids don’t take it well. They need to see that at least he’s trying.”
Colin’s been calling every day since we got here, four days ago. He talks to me, sometimes to my parents, but not to them.
Ethan barely responds when I mention his name. Their relationship was already fragile before all of this, and now I don’t even know if it will ever change, or what I can do when he’s shut himself off so completely.
And Alicia. God. I’ve never seen her so subdued. My little girl, the one who used to fill every corner of a room with her soft laughter and easy joy. She manages a smile sometimes, but her eyes don’t lie. The light that used to live in them is gone, and I don’t know how to bring it back.
Watching the two of them drift away from him breaks me in ways I can’t fully explain.
Because for all the things Colin did, despite his growing absence over the years and how unbearable it became in these last few months, he was once a good father. And that’s the version of him our children miss.
He still loves them. I know he does. But watching that love turn into something they can’t trust anymore is its own kind of torture.
When I told Alicia that her dad and I weren’t getting back together, that he’d been with someone else, it felt like tearing something out of both of us.
She asked me if the stories he used to tell her were lies. The ones about fate. About how our names started with the same letter because destiny had chosen us. That he would love me forever.
I almost cried when she said it.
There wasn’t an answer that could make sense of it, so I told her the only truth I could. That what happened between her father and me doesn’t change how much he loves them. That no matter what, they will always be his children.
Every time he told her that story when she was little, he made it a little more magical. How our names starting with the same letter was destiny. A sign that we were meant to find each other. A taller staircase in the bookstore where I worked. A higher jump. A grander rescue.
And I would stand by her door, listening quietly, not wanting to interrupt their moment. Just grateful for the life we were building together.
“Honey?”
I blink, realizing Dad’s been talking. “Sorry. I was somewhere else.”
He turns to face me, his expression soft but searching. “I asked if you’re sure about the divorce.”
“Yes.” My fingers tighten around the mug, drawing warmth from it like it can ground me. “I’ve thought about it every day. It’s not an impulse, Dad. It’s what I know I need to do.”
He studies me for a long moment before speaking again.
“You’ve been married a long time. He was your first boyfriend.
I remember how young you were, how terrified I was when you said you wanted to marry him.
But I saw the way he looked at you, and I knew I couldn’t stop you.
And, Cecily... he continues to look at you that way. Even now. That man truly loves you.”
My eyes sting with tears threatening to fall, but I hold them back. “If that’s love,” I whisper, “then what does betrayal mean?”
He hesitates. “He knows better now. He’s seen what his mistake…”
“Not a mistake, Dad.” My voice cracks, hurt and grief twisting together. “He made a choice. He chose her. He chose to lie. And I can’t spend the rest of my life wondering when he’ll choose wrong again.”
I swallow hard. “And what about Ethan and Alicia? What message do I send if I take him back? That love excuses anything? That trust can just be thrown away and rebuilt every time someone says sorry?”
Dad stands and walks to the window, running his hands through his hair. “Not now. Not while everything is so raw. But time… time heals, honey. Maybe one day you’ll find a way back to being a family again. Maybe not the same. Maybe stronger.”
I nod, but the ache in my chest only deepens. I know his heart is in the right place. He’s not trying to change my mind—just to make sure I’ve thought of everything.
“If you ever did something like that to Mom,” I ask, “would you expect her to forgive you? Or would you understand if she left?”
He freezes, his hand braced against the credenza. “Why would you ask me that?”
“I know you’d never do that,” I say quickly, offering him a small smile. “I’m just asking you to imagine it. What if it were Mom? Would you stay?”
He just stares at me.
“I had to ask my doctor for an STI panel,” I whisper, my voice trembling despite my effort to stay composed. “Do you know what that feels like, Dad? To sit there, realizing the only reason you’re getting tested is because your husband was sharing his body with someone else?”
I swallow hard, the memory just as raw. “I walked out of there feeling filthy. Like my skin wasn’t mine anymore.”
He flinches, looking away. I don’t blame him. No father should ever have to hear something like that.
When he finally looks back at me, he moves slowly, sinking into the chair across from mine.
“I just want you to be happy,” he says taking a long, shaky breath. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted. And whatever that takes, I’ll stand by you.”
I reach out and squeeze his hand. “I know, Dad.”
Outside, a deer moves through the clearing, its shape barely visible against the fading light.
I close my eyes and just breathe, whispering a prayer I’ve repeated a thousand times since this all began.
Please. Let nothing else break us
I knock twice before opening the door.
Alicia sits by the window, knees drawn up, a book open in her lap. The same one she’s been carrying everywhere lately. Her world, these days, exists somewhere between the Shire and the mountains. Anywhere but here.
I walk closer and sit on the cushion across from her. “Your dad’s here, sweetheart. He brought presents for you and Ethan.”
He also brought one for me.
A necklace with an emerald pendant.
He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small velvet box.
“I brought you something,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
Inside was a delicate necklace, a thin gold chain with a single emerald pendant catching the light.
“It’s beautiful,” I whispered. “But I’ll keep it for when Alicia’s older.”
His gaze softened. “It’s for you.”
“I know,” I murmured, closing the box gently. “But I’ll save it for her anyway.”
He only nodded.
Alicia doesn’t look up. Her fingers tighten around the book’s spine.
“I saw,” she murmurs. “I saw his black car pull up.”
“He’s waiting downstairs.”
Alicia glances out the window again, then back at me. “Is Ethan there? Do I have to go?”
I swallow hard. Ethan slipped out through the back door the moment Colin’s car appeared at the end of the driveway. When I called after him, he just said, “Please, not now, Mom,” and kept walking.
“Your brother went for a walk,” I tell her. "But your grandparents are downstairs. And I’ll be there too.”
She looks down, firmly clutching the book against her chest, her fingers tightening around it.
“I don’t want to go, Mom,” she says, her voice breaking on the last word.
My throat tightens. “You really don’t want to come down?”
She shakes her head.
Alicia isn’t stubborn; she’s hurting. She’s just trying to make sense of a world that stopped feeling safe overnight.
I could never force her or tell her that what she feels is wrong—she has every right to protect herself in the only way she knows how.
All I can do is give her time, help her find ways to process and cope, and hope that one day the hurt won’t feel so heavy.
“Okay, sweetheart.” I lean forward and press a kiss to her forehead. “We’ll be downstairs if you change your mind. Or you can ask us to come up, if that makes you feel more comfortable.”
She nods, eyes fixed on the pages she’s not really reading.
I leave the room, each step heavier than the last.
I don’t let myself think about the Christmases before… the laughter, the noise, the warmth. The four of us tangled up in lights and wrapping paper and sugar cookies.
When I reach the last step, Colin turns from where he’s been standing by the window, talking with my father. The moment our eyes meet, his shoulders slump.