Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
VIOLET
Christmas morning dawns bright and clear, sunlight reflecting off fresh snow outside our bedroom window.
I wake to find Hudson's side of the bed empty, the sheets still warm from his body.
Somewhere downstairs, I hear Lucy's excited chatter and the lower rumble of Hudson's voice attempting to keep her volume down.
A smile spreads across my face as I stretch, savoring these first quiet moments of Christmas Day. Our first Christmas as a family. The thought fills me with a warmth that has nothing to do with the thick comforter still wrapped around me.
A full week has passed since the girls came to live with us permanently. A full week of adjustments, of nightmares and tears, of healing and growing closer. Of becoming a real family, not the pretend one we started as.
The door creaks open, and Silvie peeks her head in. "Vi? Are you awake?"
"I am," I smile, sitting up. "Merry Christmas, sweetheart."
She slips into the room, closing the door behind her. In her hands is a small, clumsily wrapped package. "I wanted to give you this before everyone else is around," she says, suddenly shy.
My heart melts at her nervous expression. Of all Hudson's daughters, Silvie's acceptance has meant the most to me. Her initial wariness was understandable, but the walls between us have fallen steadily over the past month.
"Can I open it now?" I ask, patting the bed beside me.
She nods, climbing up to sit cross-legged next to me. The package is light in my hands, wrapped in green paper with candy canes all over it. I carefully undo the tape, preserving the paper.
"You can just rip it," Silvie says, bouncing slightly with impatience.
I laugh. "Sorry, old habit. My mom always saved the paper."
Inside is a handmade picture frame, painted in swirls of blue and yellow.
The photo inside makes my breath catch. It's from last week, when we went ice skating at the rink in town.
Hudson has one arm around me, the other around Silvie, with Lucy and Angie in front of us.
We're all laughing, cheeks red from the cold, looking every bit the happy family we've become.
"Daddy helped me with the frame," Silvie explains. "But the picture was my idea."
"It's perfect," I whisper, running my finger over the glass. "Absolutely perfect."
"Do you like being our step-mom?" she asks suddenly, those wise eyes watching me carefully.
I set the frame aside and take her small hands in mine. "I love being your step-mom," I tell her honestly. "It's the best gift I've ever received."
She studies me, then nods, apparently satisfied with what she sees. "Good. Because we want you to stay with us, and keep Daddy happy."
"Well, that works out perfectly," I say, pulling her into a hug. "Because I love you. All of you, and I don’t plan on going anywhere without coming back."
She hugs me back, tight and fierce, before pulling away. "Lucy's about to explode if we don't come downstairs soon. She's been up since five."
"We'd better hurry then," I laugh, throwing back the covers. "I'll be down in five minutes."
As Silvie leaves, I place the frame carefully on my nightstand. It's the first thing I'll see every morning now, this visual proof of the family we've become.
Downstairs, the scene is everything a Christmas morning should be.
The tree glows with lights, piles of presents underneath.
The scent of coffee and cinnamon rolls fills the air.
Lucy bounces on her toes by the tree while Angie sits patiently on the couch.
Hudson stands in the kitchen doorway, coffee mug in hand, watching his daughters with naked adoration.
When he sees me, his face softens in that way that still makes my stomach flip. "Merry Christmas, wife," he says quietly as I join him.
"Merry Christmas, husband," I reply, stretching up to kiss him. His free arm wraps around my waist, pulling me close.
"Vi Vi!" Lucy calls out. "Can we open presents now? Please? Everyone's here now!"
Hudson chuckles against my lips. "The natives are getting restless."
"We shouldn't keep them waiting then," I smile, taking the coffee mug he offers me.
The morning passes in a blur of torn wrapping paper, exclamations of delight, and hugs.
The girls love the art supplies, books, and games we picked out for them.
Hudson is genuinely touched by the custom leather tool belt I had made, his name burned into the thick material.
His gift to me, a delicate silver necklace with four tiny connected circles, brings tears to my eyes.
"One for each of us," he explains, fastening it around my neck. "So you always have us close to your heart."
By mid-morning, we're surrounded by discarded wrapping paper and happy exhaustion. The girls are playing with their new toys while Hudson and I clean up the mess, working side by side in comfortable harmony.
My phone rings from the kitchen counter, and I'm surprised to see my father's name on the screen. We haven't spoken since that night when Hudson stood up for me. I've still been stopping by the house as promised, cleaning and cooking, but Dad has conveniently been absent each time.
"I should take this," I tell Hudson, who nods understanding.
I step into the kitchen for privacy. "Hi, Dad."
"Hey, honey." His voice sounds different somehow. Clearer. "Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas to you, too." I lean against the counter, unsure what to expect.
"I'm sorry I haven't been around when you've visited," he says. "I needed some time to think."
"That's okay," I reply automatically, though it wasn't really.
"No, it's not okay." The firmness in his tone surprises me. "None of what I've done has been okay. The way I've treated you, the things I've said. How I've let your mother down."
I stay silent, not trusting my voice.
"I'm in a program now, Violet," he continues. "Alcoholics Anonymous. Two weeks sober today."
"That's... that's wonderful, Dad," I manage, genuinely shocked.
"The investigation at the station finally cleared me," he says. "I wasn't dirty, just a coward who looked the other way too many times. They'll reinstate me once I can prove I'm clean. Regular tests."
"I'm proud of you," I tell him, meaning it despite the complicated emotions swirling inside me.
He clears his throat. "Listen, I've been an absolute ass. I know that. I missed your mother so much it was easier to check out than face the pain. And then I missed you too, but was too stubborn to admit I was pushing you away."
"Dad—"
"Let me finish, please." He takes a deep breath. "Your husband was right. About everything he said. You deserve better than what I've given you. And I can see now that he makes you happy. That's all I should want for my daughter."
Tears prick at my eyes. "Thank you for saying that."
"I want you to focus on your marriage, on the family you're building with him and those girls. I know you've been worried about the house, but I'm going to take over maintaining it. You're welcome home anytime, but I don't want you feeling obligated anymore."
"Are you sure?" I ask, unable to believe what I'm hearing.
"I'm sure. It's time I started acting like an adult again. Like the father you deserve."
A small sob escapes me. Hudson appears in the doorway, concern written on his face. I wave him off with a watery smile.
"I love you, Dad," I say into the phone.
"I love you too, kiddo. Always have." His voice is rough with emotion. "Now go enjoy Christmas with your family. I'll see you soon."
We say goodbye, and I set the phone down, wiping tears from my cheeks. Hudson is beside me instantly, his arm around my shoulders.
"Everything okay?" he asks quietly.
I nod, leaning into him. "Better than okay, actually. He's getting help. Two weeks sober."
Hudson's eyebrows rise, but I swear I see him hiding a smile. "That's... good on him."
"Tell me about it," I laugh shakily. "He said he wants me to focus on us, on our family. That he's going to take care of the house."
"You deserve this, Goldie," Hudson says, kissing my temple. "You deserve to have your father back."
Before I can respond, Silvie appears in the doorway. "Vi? Dad? It's time for the first special present. Everyone's waiting."
Hudson exchanges a look with me I can't quite interpret. "We'll be right there, Sil."
In the living room, the girls have gathered around a large envelope on the coffee table. It's addressed to me in unfamiliar handwriting.
"What's this?" I ask, sitting on the couch.
"Open it," Hudson urges, a hint of nervousness in his voice.
I slide my finger under the flap, pulling out a stack of official-looking papers. As I read the first page, my breath catches.
It's a deed. To my mother's house. Paid in full.
"I don't understand," I whisper, looking up at Hudson in confusion.
He sits beside me, taking my hand. "Your dad and I had a meeting last week," he explains. "He wanted to do something that would take a weight off your shoulders. We talked about what that might be."
"You paid off the mortgage?" I ask, still stunned.
"I helped," he confirms.
I stare at the papers, unable to process what I'm holding. The house that has been such a source of stress and worry is now free and clear. The promise I made to my mother, fulfilled beyond anything I could have imagined.
"How did you even..." I trail off, overwhelmed.
"Your dad gave what he could," Hudson says quietly. "And I was happy to cover the rest. Your peace of mind is worth every penny."
"But it's so much money," I protest weakly.
He shakes his head. "It's not about the money, Goldie. It's about you not having to worry anymore. About honoring your mother's memory without it being a burden."
Tears spill down my cheeks as I throw my arms around his neck. "Thank you," I whisper against his skin. "Thank you so much."
His strong arms encircle me, holding me close. "Merry Christmas, Goldie."
Lucy tugs at my sleeve. "Are you crying because you're happy or sad?"