The kitchen smells of tomato soup and grilled cheese. Mom stands at the stove, ladling soup into bowls lined up on the counter. Her robe’s been traded for jeans and a sweatshirt, but the look on her face is the same one she’s worn every Christmas storm since I was six: equal parts worry and “I told you to wear your hat.”
“There you are,” she says, without turning. “Soup’s ready. Don’t you dare step past that rug in wet socks or I’ll make you mop.”
“Yes, ma’am,” we chorus automatically, a half-frozen choir of idiots.
But my attention’s already drifting past her, drawn into the living room.
Rose is on the floor by the coffee table, sitting cross-legged on a blanket they’ve spread out as an indoor picnic. Colored pencils, markers, stickers, construction paper… Ellie’s art bin exploded, and they decided to roll with it. Ellie is kneeling beside her, talking so fast that half the words blur together, waving a purple marker in the air.
Wyatt snoozes in his baby swing, socked feet twitching now and then, cheeks pink.
Lila is sprawled on her stomach on the other side of the blanket, feet kicking lazily, socked toes wiggling. Her braids are a little fuzzy now, strands escaping around her face. She’s holding up one of her toy horses, voice pitched deep and serious as she makes it trot across the paper arena they’ve drawn.
And next to her…
Faith.
She’s propped on one elbow, hair pulled back into a low, messy ponytail, my old gray sweater layered over the jeans and T-shirt Rose dropped off this morning, still swallowing her to mid-thigh. She’s got a pencil tucked behind one ear, stickers stuck to the back of her hand, and a streak of green marker on the side of her thumb. She leans in, as if the story Lila’s telling is the most important thing happening in the world right now.
“…and then Star goes to the big Christmas rodeo,” Lila is saying carefully, “and she’s a little scared, but her best friend Daisy is like, ‘you can do it,’ and her dad says, ‘I’ll be right here,’ so she’s brave. And she wins.”
“Not because she’s the fastest,” Ellie adds, bouncing slightly. “Because she tries the hardest.”
Faith laughs, soft and delighted. It hits me square in the chest.
“That’s a really good story,” she says. “I like that she’s brave because people believe in her.”
Lila glows under the praise. Her cheeks go pink.
“She has a necklace too,” Lila adds suddenly. “Like yours.” She taps her own throat, then reaches out, a little tentative, and brushes the edge of Faith’s locket where it peeks out above the sweater collar. “For courage.”
Faith’s hand flies up, fingers closing around the silver oval. The whole room falls away from her face.
“Necklaces are good for that,” she says. “For remembering who you are, even when you’re scared.”
My heart does a weird, slow roll in my chest.
Ellie pops up suddenly, shoving a piece of paper toward Rose. “Look! Miss Faith helped me draw the barn and the tree and Lila’s horse and Rusty stealing cookies.”
Rusty, lying suspiciously close to the coffee table, thumps his tail and pretends he’s innocent.
Rose smiles. “That is a very accurate depiction of Rusty.”
“Faith taught us how to make the snow look like it’s really falling,” Lila adds, flicking her fingers in a showering motion above the paper. “With little dots and swooshes.”
Faith looks up then.
Her gaze sweeps across the doorway, catches the four of us standing there half thawed, and snags on me.
For a beat, everything else blurs.
The wind still howls outside. Mom clatters bowls. Ellie’s halfway into a new monologue about Star’s backstory. But all of that fades, and the only thing left sharp is the way her wide green eyes find mine.
There’s surprise in them. Relief. A flash of warmth. Maybe she’s glad I’m here.
My pulse kicks hard, once, twice, then settles into a faster rhythm that has nothing to do with the work we just did.
She’s wearing my damn sweater.
