And for a moment, looking at her father smiling beside the fire, she felt that familiar closeness to her mother.
Not because anything had returned to the way it once was.
But because something her mother had taught her was still here.
In the food on the table.
In the photographs.
In the way Richard held his granddaughter.
And in the home Maria had made.
Later that night, after the twins had been carried upstairs and Richard had retired to the guest room, Maria stood beside the Christmas tree.
The house had finally become quiet.
Beyond the windows, snow continued falling across the garden.
Daniel approached carrying two mugs of warm milk.
“Couldn’t sleep?”
“Not yet.”
He handed her a mug.
She smiled.
“Thank you.”
They stood together beside the tree.
For a while, they watched the snow.
Then Daniel noticed a small glass ornament hanging from one of the branches.
It was shaped like a silver star.
“That’s new.”
Maria touched it gently.
“It was Mum’s.”
He leaned closer.
“I don’t think I’ve seen it before.”
“I found it in one of Dad’s old Christmas boxes when we visited London last spring.”
The ornament caught the light.
“She used to let me hang it at the top of the tree,” Maria said. “Even when I was too small to reach.”
“Did she lift yop?”
Maria smiled.
“Every year.”
Daniel looked at the star.
“It’s beautiful.”
“Yes.”
He slipped his arm around her.
She rested her head against his shoulder.
For a while, there was nothing but the soft ticking of the clock and the distant sound of wind against the shutters.
Then Daniel said, “Do you know what I was thinking about today?”
“What?”
“Our first Christmas here.”
Maria laughed softly.
“The year the heating stopped working?”
“And you insisted on cooking dinner anyway.”
“We had guests.”
“We had two guests and a kitchen full of smoke.”
“You burned the potatoes.”
“I remember a different version of events.”
She looked up at him.
He smiled.
“All right. I burned the potatoes.”
Maria laughed.
He kissed her forehead.
“We’ve come a long way.”
She looked toward the stairs, where their children slept.
“Yes,” she said softly. “We have.”
Just before midnight, Maria went upstairs to check on the twins.
Their bedroom was lit by a small moon-shaped night-light.
Oliver had kicked off one sock and fallen asleep sideways across his pillow. Sophie lay curled beneath her blanket, hugging Clementine the rabbit.
Maria pulled Oliver’s duvet over his shoulders.
Then she tucked Sophie’s blanket beneath her chin.
She stood between their beds for a moment.
Looking at them.
Two small lives who had no idea how many choices, accidents, departures, and unexpected meetings had led to their existence.
Oliver stirred.
“Mummy?”
“I’m here.”
“Did Granddad stay?”
“Yes, sweetheart.”
“Good.”
His eyes closed again.
Maria brushed his hair away from his forehead.
