Chapter 3
HOLLY
Six Months Later
The office still smelled like Simon.
Holly stood in the doorway, a roll of packing tape in one hand, and tried not to breathe too deeply.
Six months had passed since she'd walked out of this house after finding Simon and Terry in a compromising position. Six months since the world had fractured. Six months since her attorney had kicked him out of this house and ensured she’d gotten it in the divorce.
Yet his presence lingered in every corner of this room.
The faint ghost of his aftershave clung to the leather chair.
Old paper and ink saturated the air, mixed with the musty scent of law books that lined the shelves like silent witnesses to a marriage that had crumbled without her noticing.
Holly had cleaned up and packed up everything Simon had asked for that he’d wanted from the house.
But she'd avoided this room for weeks. She’d let the movers take the furniture Simon had asked for from the rest of the house.
She’d let Charlie help her sort through the kitchen, the bedroom, and the closets.
But the office. This used to be Simon's domain, his sanctuary.
That was why Holly had waited until the last minute, the last room.
Late November sunlight slanted through the window, catching dust motes that danced in the golden beams. Outside, palm fronds rustled in the breeze, and somewhere down the street, a neighbor's dog barked. Normal sounds. A normal day.
Except nothing felt normal anymore.
Holly took a breath and stepped further inside the room, and surveyed the empty boxes stacked against the walls.
Most of the smaller things Simon had taken with him, and some of the boxes he'd come by last week to collect. Terry had come with him but had stayed in the car. Holly had taken her keys back from him to the house the day he moved out, and she’d even changed the locks to make sure he couldn’t get back in.
As such, she had to be here when he came to collect his things, and he’d stretched getting them over the past six months.
When he came here, Holly would let him in, give him his stuff, and then let him out, saying as little as she could get away with.
Her attorney had warned her not to say too much to him.
Holly didn’t mind that. She had nothing to say to Simon or Terry, and Holly wasn’t sure she ever would have anything to say to them ever again.
The betrayal on both sides was just too deep and hurt too badly.
Her eyes roamed the room once again. All that remained were a few boxes in the hall and this room that was filled with his old case files.
Outdated law journals. A dusty globe on a brass stand that had belonged to his father.
She'd put off coming in here to box them up because this was the room that had shattered her life.
Holly grabbed a box and began filling it with books, working methodically to keep her hands busy.
The divorce papers had been filed two weeks ago.
Marjorie Dawn had been every bit as fierce as Charlie promised, and Simon hadn't fought her on anything.
The house, the shop, a fair settlement. He'd signed it all without argument, probably relieved she wasn't asking for more.
Or maybe he just wanted it over with as quickly as Holly did.
Holly's shop was thriving. Business had picked up in the fall, and she'd taken on two new restoration projects that would keep her busy well into the new year. She should have felt proud. Accomplished. Free.
Instead, she felt hollow.
The phone rang, cutting through the quiet like a blade.
Holly set down the book she was holding and crossed to the desk, glancing at the caller ID. Her breath caught.
Gabe.
She snatched up the receiver. "Gabe?"
Static crackled through the line, followed by a voice that sounded both impossibly close and a world away. "Hey, Mom. You weren’t answering your mobile phone."
Holly looked at her mobile phone on Simon’s… no, her desk. There were missed calls, and that’s when she realized the sound was still off. She quickly put it back on.
"Sorry, sweetheart, I hadn’t put the volume up." Holly sank into the desk chair, gripping the phone as if it were a lifeline. "How are you? Are you okay?"
"I'm fine." His voice was tired, rough around the edges in a way that made her chest ache. "Just wanted to check in. See how you're doing."
"I'm good. Really." She forced brightness into her tone, the same brightness she'd been forcing for six months now. "The shop's busy, and Trinity's doing great in school. She made the honor roll again."
"That's my girl." There was pride in his voice, but also something heavier. Something he wasn't saying.
Holly's stomach twisted. "Gabe, what's wrong?"
A pause. More static. Then, quietly, "I'm not going to make it home for Christmas again this year."
The words hit her like a punch to the gut. She closed her eyes, pressing a hand to her mouth to keep the sound from escaping. Not again. This would be the third consecutive year.
"Mom? Are you still there?" Gabe’s voice was slightly raised over the static.
"I'm here." Holly’s voice came out steadier than she felt. "It's okay, sweetheart. I understand. You're doing important work."
"I hate this." Gabe’s frustration bled through the line. "I hate being so far away. Especially now, with everything you've been going through, and Trin’s going to be so disappointed. I hate disappointing my girl."
"Don't." Holly cut him off gently. "Don't do that to yourself. I'm fine. Trinity’s fine. Trinity and I will have a wonderful Christmas, I promise."
She didn't know if she was lying or not. Christmas wasn’t going to be the same this year. Not at all!
Before Gabe could respond, Holly heard light footsteps in the hallway. She turned to see Trinity appear in the doorway, her eyes bright with hope.
"Is that Daddy?" Trinity said.
Holly's heart squeezed. She nodded and held out the phone.
Trinity practically flew across the room, grabbing the receiver with both hands. "Daddy! Hi! How are you? Where are you? When are you coming home?”
Holly watched her granddaughter's face as she listened. Watched the hope flicker and fade, replaced by a brave smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"Oh. Okay. Yeah, I understand." Trinity's voice was small, careful. "No, it's okay. Really. Gran and I will be fine." She licked her lips. “We will miss you so much, though.”
Holly had to look away. She couldn’t stand the heartbreak in her granddaughter's eyes. Trinity had been through so much in her young life after having lost her mother when she was six.
She turned back to the desk, busying her hands with sorting through the drawers. Papers. Pens. A letter opener she'd given Simon for their twentieth anniversary. She set it aside without looking at it and pulled open the bottom drawer.
And there, tucked beneath a stack of old contracts, was a brochure.
Holly lifted it carefully, as though it might crumble in her hands.
The cover was glossy, showing a sprawling white inn perched on the edge of a shoreline, its balconies draped in twinkling lights.
Palm trees wrapped in golden bulbs swayed in an unseen breeze, and the ocean beyond glowed with the reflection of a thousand stars.
The Christmas Inn, the elegant script read. Anastasia Island, St. Augustine, Florida.
And beneath it, in smaller letters: Part of the Nights of Lights Festival.
Holly stared at the photo, something stirring in her chest. The inn looked magical. Peaceful. Like a place where broken things could be mended, where hearts could heal under the glow of a million tiny lights.
She flipped the brochure open. Inside were more photos of guest rooms with ocean views, a dining room adorned with garlands and candles, a courtyard strung with fairy lights that seemed to melt into the horizon.
There was a description of the inn's history, its century-old traditions, the candlelit carol services, and lantern-lit carriage rides.
It looked like something out of a dream.
Behind her, Trinity's voice softened. "I love you too, Daddy. Stay safe, okay?"
A pause. Then, quieter, "I miss you."
Holly heard the receiver click back into place, and she quickly tucked the brochure into her lap, turning just as Trinity shuffled toward the door.
"I'm going to get a snack," Trinity said, her voice determinedly cheerful. "Want anything?"
"No, sweetheart. Thank you." Holly felt the sting of tears burn the back of her eyes. This was the third time her father wasn’t coming home. Three years, Gabe had been away from home.
Trinity nodded and disappeared down the hallway, her footsteps fading into the quiet.
Holly looked down at the brochure again, running her fingers over the glossy cover. For the first time in months, she let herself imagine something other than the hollow ache that had become her constant companion.
She imagined herself and Trinity there. At the inn. Watching the sunrise over the ocean with hot cocoa in hand. Walking along the beach, collecting shells. Sitting by a roaring fire while the world outside sparkled with lights.
She imagined a Christmas that wasn't weighed down by betrayal and loss. A Christmas filled with light instead of shadows.
The phone rang again, jolting her from the thought.
She picked it up without checking the caller ID. "Hello?"
"You sound like you've been crying."
Holly exhaled, relief flooding through her. "Charlie."
"Who else?" Her sister's voice was warm, laced with concern. "How's the packing going?"
"Slowly."
"Need me to come over and help you burn his stuff? I've got matches and a bottle of wine."
Despite everything, Holly laughed. It felt rusty, like she'd forgotten how. "Tempting, but I think arson is frowned upon."
"Killjoy." Charlie paused. "Seriously, though. How are you holding up?"
Holly glanced at the brochure still resting in her lap. "Gabe called. He's not coming home for Christmas."