The tree stood in the corner like a silent witness, lights twinkling gold and red against the dark wood walls. We’d hung the last ornament hours ago—Isaac’s ridiculous glitter-covered starfish, Chase’s tiny football helmet bauble—and now the room glowed soft, almost sacred. The fire had burned low, coals pulsing beneath a thin skin of ash. Outside, snow fell in thick, steady sheets, sealing us in.
No one moved to add another log.
We sat scattered across the living room—some on the couch, some on the rug, some leaning against furniture—breathing the same heavy air. The silence wasn’t empty. It was full of everything we hadn’t said since the porch gathering two nights ago. Every glance carried weight. Every accidental brush of fingers felt like a question.
I stood in the center of the roo
