The first real snow of December fell on a Tuesday night, blanketing Maple Lane in soft white by morning. Elias had already put up the Christmas tree the weekend before, and the house smelled like pine and the gingerbread cookies we’d baked together. For the first time in over a year, the holidays didn’t feel heavy with secrets.
Amina was due home in four days.
She had texted two nights earlier:
Amina: I’ll be there on the 23rd. I’m staying until the 28th. I know that’s longer than usual, but I want to be home for Christmas this year. Is that still okay?
Elias had answered immediately:
Elias: It’s more than okay. We want you here.
She hadn’t said anything else about the future since the last video call, and we hadn’t pushed. We were learning — slowly — that giving her room to bring th
