Chapter 6 - A Simple Hearth
Twenty minutes later, they pulled into the driveway of their modest two-story home. It wasn't grand like Carol’s house; there were no nine-foot trees or custom-designed garlands. But as Evan unlocked the front door and flipped on the lights, the familiar smell of pine, cinnamon, and wool welcomed them like a warm embrace.
In their living room sat a six-foot Douglas fir they had picked out together at a local farm three weeks ago. It was decorated with an mismatched collection of ornaments—glass balls from Claire’s college days, wooden stars Evan had carved, and a small felt stocking with Lily’s name embroidered across the top in white thread.
Evan carried the sleeping baby upstairs, carefully transferring her into her crib while Claire kicked off her boots and walked over to the fireplace. She lit the kindling, watching the small orange flames catch and spread across the birch logs.
When Evan came back down the stairs, he carried two mug of hot chocolate topped with melting marshmallows. He handed one to Claire and sat down beside her on the rug in front of the hearth.
"Silence is kind of nice," Evan observed quietly, looking at the soft flickering shadows on the wall.
Claire leaned her head against his shoulder, taking a slow sip of the sweet, hot liquid. "It's not just silent, Evan. It's peaceful."
For thirty years, Claire’s Christmases had been measured by performance—the right clothes, the right manners, the right reactions to Carol’s backhanded compliments. Success was measured by whether or not someone left the table in tears.
Sitting here now, with the crackle of the wood and the quiet rhythm of her daughter sleeping upstairs, she realized how much energy she had wasted trying to preserve a fantasy.
Suddenly, her phone buzzed on the coffee table. The screen lit up with a notification.
1 Missed Call: Mom. 1 Text Message: Mom.
Claire looked at the screen. She didn't pick it up immediately. She sat there for a long moment, watching the blue light illuminate the dark wood of the table.
May you like
"Do you want me to read it?" Evan offered gently.
"No," Claire said, reaching out and picking up the phone. "I'll read it."
