Chapter 70
Claire
Christmas morning did not begin quietly.
It began with a knee to my ribs.
Then a heel.
Then a very determined small voice yelling, “IT IS CHRISTMAS.”
Ethan groaned beside me and rolled onto his stomach. “No,” he mumbled into the pillow. “Tell Santa to come back later.”
Lily bounced harder. “He already came.”
“That’s what she said,” Ethan muttered.
“Ethan,” I hissed, elbowing him.
“What?” He cracked one eye open.
“Wake up,” Lily yelled, bouncing on the bed with unrestrained enthusiasm. “It’s Christmas.”
Ethan groaned, burying his face into the pillow. I laughed, the sound spilling out of me before I could stop it.
“Okay, okay,” Ethan said, finally sitting up, hair sticking out in every direction. “I’m awake. I’m awake. Please stop using my internal organs as a trampoline.”
She launched herself at me instead, wrapping her arms around my neck. “Merry Christmas,” she said loudly, right in my ear.
“Merry Christmas,” I said, laughing. “You’re vibrating.”
“There are presents,” she said, like it was a secret she had barely managed to keep.
Ethan squinted at her. “You’ve been awake for hours, haven’t you.”
She grinned. “Since it was still dark.”
I pushed myself up, my heart full in a way that felt almost too big for my chest. This was our first Christmas together like this.
Ethan caught my hand as I climbed out of bed, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. The contact was brief, grounding, filled with quiet promise.
Downstairs, the living room glowed with soft lights. The tree stood in the corner, decorated unevenly with ornaments Lily had insisted on placing herself. Paper snowflakes hung crookedly in the windows. Stockings bulged on the mantle.
Lily skidded to a stop in front of the tree and turned to face us, hands clasped behind her back like she was containing herself by sheer will.
“Okay,” she said. “You can sit.”
Ethan and I exchanged a look, settling onto the couch side by side. He wrapped an arm around my shoulders without thinking about it anymore. The ease of the gesture still surprised me sometimes.
Lily handed out presents with great ceremony, insisting we open them one at a time. She watched our faces intently, her joy magnified by every smile, every laugh.
She tore into her own gifts; the room filled with squeals and paper and delight.
“This is the best day of my life,” she announced, holding up a book. A sweater she immediately declared perfect.
At one point, she climbed into Ethan’s lap.
Last came a small box.
“This one is for both of you,” she said, suddenly solemn.
Ethan opened it carefully.
Inside was a drawing. Three stick figures holding hands under a crooked tree. One tall. One medium. One with wild hair. Above them, in uneven letters: family.
Ethan went very still.
“Oh,” he said quietly. “Lils.”
“Grandpa helped me spell,” she said proudly.
He pulled her into his chest and kissed the top of her head. I reached for his arm, my throat tight.
“I’m hanging this up,” he said. “Like… immediately.”
Later, bundled in coats and scarves, we walked through town. Lily ran ahead, kicking snow, narrating her every move.
People waved as we passed. Some stopped to talk. The reactions were cautious at first, polite but measured. Maplewood never rushed to embrace change.
But there was warmth there too. Familiar faces softened when they saw Lily between us. Conversations lingered longer. Smiles held.
Mrs. Calder from the bakery pressed cookies into Lily’s hands and told her she was getting tall. Mr. Henson tipped his hat to Ethan and said it was good to see him home, his voice sincere.
Home.
I watched Ethan absorb it all, his posture slowly easing. He squeezed my hand once, quick and private, and I squeezed back.
At the Walkers’ house, the warmth hit us the moment we stepped inside. The smell of pine and cinnamon and something roasting filled the air. Voices overlapped, laughter spilling from room to room.
Sophie spotted me immediately and made a beeline across the living room.
“Well,” she said, looking me up and down with exaggerated scrutiny, “you look disgustingly happy.”
I laughed. “Merry Christmas to you too.”
She leaned in and lowered her voice. “I knew it,” she said. “I called it months ago. You didn’t believe me.”
“You call everything,” I said.
“Yes, but I was right about this.” She glanced over my shoulder at Ethan and Lily, who were being ambushed by cousins. “About him staying.”
I followed her gaze. “It hasn’t been easy.”
She softened. “I know. But it’s good. I can see it on you.”
Before I could respond, Emma appeared beside us, clearly several glasses of wine past subtle, her eyes already shining. She pulled me into a hug that was fierce and familiar, the kind that suggested she might not let go anytime soon.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” she said, her voice thick.
“I wouldn’t miss it,” I said, patting her back, partly in comfort and partly to support her.
She pulled back and looked at me and her smile wobbled. “You look happy,” she said. “I haven’t seen you like this in a long time.”
Emotion pressed at my throat. “I feel happy.”
Her gaze drifted to Ethan, who was crouched down talking to Lily at eye level, patient and completely absorbed. Emma sighed, dramatic and heartfelt.
Emma’s hand went to her mouth.
“I worried,” she said quietly. “I worried so much. About all of you.”
“I know.”
“But seeing this,” she said, wiping at her eyes, “it feels right. And if I cry again,” she continued, “you need to take my wine away.”
Dinner was loud and crowded and perfect. Plates passed. Stories shared. Lily bounced from lap to lap, accepted everywhere she went.
At one point, I caught Ethan watching the room, his expression thoughtful. When he noticed me looking, he smiled, small and sure.
Later, when the house had emptied and the night had settled in, we drove home through softly falling snow. Lily slept in the backseat, her head tipped to the side, her gloves still on.
Inside, we carried her upstairs together and tucked her into bed. Ethan lingered in the doorway for a moment after we turned out the light.
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
I waited, bracing myself for something lovely and heartfelt.
“For what?”
“For the socks,” he said.
I laughed, the sound echoing softly down the hall, and took his hand.
Back in our room, we curled together under the covers, the day finally catching up to us. Outside, snow continued to fall, blanketing everything in quiet.
I rested my head against his chest and listened to his heartbeat, steady and real.
This was not the life I had planned.
It was better.