Jax
Christmas was always Mum’s favorite holiday.
Every year, she made it her mission to do everything under the sun, whether she was feeling well or not. The market, Winter Wonderland, and, of course, making sure we had Welsh cakes for breakfast every day during the week leading up to Christmas.
And if there’s one thing I miss the most? It’s definitely the Welsh cakes.
Allie tried her best to make them the way Mum did, but I don’t have the heart to tell her that Welsh cakes are made with currants, not raisins.
Still, watching the smile spread across her face as she woke me up with a cup of hot tea and a plate of her own little version of Welsh cakes—that was easily the best thing to wake up to.
So even though it’s my first Christmas without Mum, and Allie’s first without her girls, we’re choosing to focus on the positives.
Like how it’s our first holiday together as a married couple.
My first Christmas as a signed artist.
The first one where it’s actually snowing outside—a lot.
And the very first Christmas I get to say I’m a dad.
That’s why Allie and I aren’t cooped up on the couch or curled up in bed—because if anyone knows how bad things can get, it’s us, and we know just how lucky we are to be here now.
My feet scuff against the cement stairs as I carry up the last box of ornaments Allie sent me to fetch.
The second I step onto the main level, my eyes land on someone in particular who should definitely not be lifting heavy things—yet there she is, bending to grab the box I just set down minutes before.
“Aht!” I call out, keeping a grin on my face so she knows I’m only teasing.
She jumps, one hand flying to her chest as she looks up at me with those wide, doe eyes. “Jesus, Jax,” she says, letting out a shaky laugh. “You scared me.”
I stop in front of her, setting the box in my hands on top of the one by her feet. Then I scoop them both up and press a quick kiss to her cheek.
“No lifting, love,” I remind her.
I hear her follow behind me, and if I listen closely enough, I’m sure I’ll even hear the little eye roll I know she’s giving me right now.
When we reach the living room, I drop the boxes onto the coffee table with a soft thud.
Allie quickly circles around me, already reaching for one of the boxes before the dust even settles. Glitter bursts into the air as she rips the flaps open, and she narrows her eyes through the sparkling cloud while her hands sift through the tangle of decorations inside.
The second her eyes land on what I assume is exactly what she’s looking for, her expression softens. Carefully, she lifts a small yellow bow from the box, and rests it in her palm. She carries it over to me like it’s about to come alive before stopping at my side.
“This was my very first ornament,” she says with a soft laugh.
Her birthday is sewn into the bow with white thread, Allie’s First Christmas neatly stitched above it. The fabric’s a little frayed around the edges, but somehow it still looks brand new.
I grin, brushing my thumb over the ribbon. “Your mum kept it all these years?”
She nods. “She did. She even had it varnished so it would stay looking new, so it’s been tradition for as long as I can remember—this one always goes on the tree first.” Her eyes lift to mine then, the twinkle of the lights catching in them.
“What about you? Did your family have any traditions like that?”
I give her a small, half-genuine smile.
Technically, our tradition was to throw whatever ornament was still intact on the tree, then go and fetch the old man from the pub before he got arrested for the fourth time that week. But am I going to say that and ruin the Christmas joy shining in her eyes right now?
Not a chance.
“My first ornament was a small metal rattle. Mum wrote my name on it in Sharpie that somehow still hasn’t faded,” I say with a light laugh.
Not entirely a lie. That really was my first ornament. It just stopped being tradition when I was fourteen because the old man decided we weren’t having Christmas and threw the box away.
I’ll never forget Mum’s face—
“That’s really sweet,” Allie says, pulling me from my thoughts before they can finish.
And I’ve never been more grateful.
I lean down, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead before she dashes to the tree. She stands on her toes, lip pulled between her teeth as she reaches to hang the small bow near the top.
We stand there for a few quiet moments, just staring at this nearly bare tree that only has its twinkling lights and one singular ornament.
Then Allie sighs softly, bending to sift through the box again. I join her, bending at the knees, but my eyes aren’t on the decorations—they’re on her. Watching the way her lips curve every time her hand touches something new, like each piece brings back a whole new memory.
Then her fingers brush against a small stocking, and she freezes. The light fades from her eyes as quickly as it appeared. I freeze too, scrambling for a way to bring it back, though part of me is curious as to what ripped it away so quickly.
So I sit there quietly, ready to reach for her the second she needs it.
She slowly pulls the stocking free from the tangle of tinsel. It’s small and pink, white fur around the top, with Charlie embroidered in glitter. Allie holds it in her lap, her thumbs brushing over the fur as silence fills the room.
I reach out, my hand landing on her back, tracing slow circles. “It’s alright, Al,” I murmur.
Her eyes close, and I don’t miss the single tear that slips free from the corner of her eye.
Suddenly, I really fucking hate Christmas.
She looks up at me, and it’s like she’s reached over and punched me straight in the gut. Her eyes are already red.
“It’s just not fair,” she whispers, voice already breaking.
I frown, my hand finding her chin. “I know it’s not, love. And I’m so sorry life hasn’t been fair to you. They should be here. But they’ll be back.”
Another tear slips down her cheek as she shakes her head slowly. “But what if—”
“No.” I move closer, wrapping my arms around her and pulling her into my chest. “No, Allie. We’re not thinking that way right now.”
Her hands clutch my shoulders, holding on just as tightly as I’m holding her. We rock each other back and forth, like it’s some kind of silent competition to see who needs the comfort more.
But then she stops, and she pulls herself from my chest as her eyes search mine. “But what if he won, Jax,” she says anyway.
And my heart cracks right in fucking half.
That’s when a knock sounds at the door, like the universe has the worst timing imaginable.
Allie flinches, her brows pinching together as her eyes flick from the door to me.
“I’ll get it,” I say quietly, already pushing to my feet.
My heart hammers in my chest with every step toward the door. Who the hell would be knocking on Christmas Eve?
But when I reach the door and glance through the stained glass, I catch a glimpse of the figure on the other side—
And my fucking heart drops.