“It’s okay, baby,” I say quickly, grabbing a towel and wiping the mess.
“You’re right, it’s not Anna’s fault. Why can’t you just give her a cup with a lid on it?” Mason presses, his tone as sharp as the glacial tint in his eyes.
“Mama.” Anna lifts her arms, her eyes flashing to Mason, then back to me, almost like she hears the tone in his voice. “Mama, up.”
James pushes back from the table, eyes hard and unyielding. “I’ve gotta go. Airport and such.”
“Guys, remember, we’re leaving at eleven.” I take the escape.
***
ItendsupbeingAnna, the twins, and me heading to the festival.
The boys mumble a goodbye before they dash to the hot chocolate stand and vintage game arcade. Jules has given them the green light to roam the quaint village together.
Anna walks beside me, mittened hand in mine, her little boots crunching over the snow as we make our way to the bookshop. The village is a winter fantasy land. Light poles are wrapped in evergreen garland, glass ornaments swaying gently in the crisp breeze, the air rich with the scent of chocolate and chestnuts. Last-minute holiday shoppers slip in and out of shops. Kids run, occasionally pelting each other with snowballs. Families wander, sipping hot chocolate.
The alluring combination of cinnamon, orange, cloves, and paper hits first as we walk into the bookshop.
Today, the train table is its own snowy miniature wonderland. Animal figurines gather in family clusters. Bear cubs with two moms, kittens with two dads, puppies with a single mom—some with full extended families, others with only adults and no little ones.
It’s this simple display, built for little hands and make-believe, that brings everything into focus.
Families aren’t made from blueprints and legal documents. They’re built in the quiet, ordinary moments: who shows up, who loves without conditions. Family is who keeps choosing you, over and over, without ever needing to be asked.
I’m still standing there when I hear Anna’s unmistakable cry of delight.
“Unca J!”
My head snaps up.
And there he is.
James stands inside the doorway, Vera beside him, Darrell next to her.
Vera’s eyes soften the moment she sees me, wrapping me in a tight hug. Her sweater is soft against my cheek, carrying the faint scent of her smoky perfume. She holds me for a long moment, clinging to more than a greeting.
Her eyes shine with tears when she finally pulls back.
“When James mentioned this little festival, Ihadto see it for myself.” Vera dabs at the tear slipping down her cheek.
She turns to Anna, half-hidden behind my legs in her boots, leggings, and the ballet tutu she insists on wearing everywhere, a shy smile at the corners of her lips. They always play this game.
“I see a beautiful ballerina, but where is Anna?” Vera looks around theatrically.
“I’m here, Miss Vera.” Anna jumps forward, her little hands reaching high into the air.
Vera gasps, feigning surprise. “Oh my. You’ve grown so much since I last saw you!”
Anna twirls and runs straight to James. He crouches as if drawn by instinct, arms open, smile wide. She goes straight to him. No hesitation. A trust so implicit, so unwavering it stings—because to her, there’s no question of right or wrong. She knows James will be there.
“You got her? I’m going to go find a book.”
Weaving through the shelves, I don’t see the books; I just need space. The twinkling lights guide me deeper into the shop, the soft hum of laughter and the rhythmic chug of the train following behind. My fingers trail along the spines, feeling the grooves and worn edges, the scuff of leather and cloth, the shiny hardcovers and soft paperbacks.
My hand falls still. Nestled between two glossy hardbacks is a familiar cover:Little Women. The same book Madame Rousseau once wrapped, tucking a piece of hope into my empty hands. The book I clutched that Christmas morning when no one else noticed I was there—my escape into the March family’s messy, imperfect, fiercelyloving world.
When I met the Wallises, I thought maybe I’d found my own version. A family to belong to, a place to feel wanted. But it wasn’t real. Mason was never the warmth or freedom I dreamed of.
