before had left everything outside soft and muffled, and the only sounds in the house were the occasional creak of old floorboards and the low hum of the furnace. Elias and I woke early, as we always did on Christmas. He made coffee while I warmed the cinnamon rolls Mrs. Delgado had dropped off the day before. Neither of us spoke much. We were both thinking about Amina, who was still asleep down the hall.
She came downstairs just after nine, wearing one of her old hoodies and looking more rested than she had in days. Noah had gone back to the inn the night before to give her space with us on Christmas morning. She paused in the doorway of the living room when she saw the tree and the small pile of gifts underneath it.
“You kept all my old ornaments,” she said softly, walking closer to th
