Chapter 9 - THE LAST CHRISTMAS
One year later, Christmas came again.
Claire decorated the house.
Our son was one year old.
My father arrived carrying gifts.
Richard came too.
Even my brother brought his children.
There was laughter.
Warm food.
Music.
And a long dining table.
Claire placed a plate in front of everyone.
Including my mother.
She had been released months earlier.
She sat quietly at the end of the table.
No one forced Claire to invite her.
Claire had chosen to.
But there were boundaries.
My mother understood them.
She looked at Claire.
“Thank you.”
Claire nodded.
“Eat.”
Nothing more.
It was enough.
I looked at the table.
A year earlier, my wife had been standing in the center of a dining room covered in hot soup.
Now she was holding our son.
Smiling.
Safe.
I touched her shoulder.
She looked at me.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
“You're staring.”
“I was remembering.”
She smiled.
“Don't.”
I laughed.
Then my father raised his glass.
“To family.”
Everyone repeated it.
But I knew family wasn't simply blood.
Family was the person who protected you.
The person who believed you.
The person who stood beside you when everyone else turned away.
I looked at Claire.
May you like
She smiled.
And I knew I had chosen correctly.
