The morning after Christmas had always been her favorite when she was younger.
Not because of the presents.
Not even because of the lingering magic in the air.
But because Boxing Day felt slower.
Softer.
Like the world was giving you one last chance to hold onto the wonder before life crept back in.
Isabelle wrapped her fingers around her mug, sitting cross-legged by the base of the tree, wearing a cozy cream sweater and leggings, her hair tucked behind one ear.
The living room was a beautiful, exhausted mess — ribbons scattered, wrapping paper forgotten, Amelia’s new dollhouse half-assembled in the corner, Elliott’s dinosaur fortress proudly standing guard nearby.
The twins played happily, lost in their own world of toys and laughter.
She barely heard Sebastian’s footsteps behind
