“And books!” Lisa added excitedly.
I found him in our newly repaired kitchen, looking slightly sheepish. “I hope you don’t mind.
The kids mentioned they were studying ancient Egypt…”
“You didn’t have to—”
“I wanted to.” His smile was gentle. “Besides, Tommy promised to teach me his secret handshake.”
As winter melted into spring, I found myself watching the clock on days I knew he’d visit. We’d sit on the porch after the kids were in bed, talking about everything — his work, my dreams for the kids, shared memories of loss and hope.
“Jason would have loved this,” I said one evening, gesturing at our transformed home.
“He always had such plans…”
Robert was quiet for a moment. “Tell me about him?”
So I did, surprised to find I could talk about Jason without that sharp pain in my chest. Robert listened in a way that made me feel heard.
Weeks became months.
Margaret also visited regularly and the kids thrived under the attention of their new grandmother figure and Robert’s steady presence.
“He likes you, you know,” Sarah said one day, wise beyond her thirteen years.
“Sarah—”
“Mom, it’s okay to be happy again. Dad would want that.”
A year later, Robert and I were married. I stood in the living room watching Robert help Tommy hang ornaments on our new Christmas tree while Margaret and the girls baked cookies, and marveled at how life surprises you.
“Perfect spot, buddy,” he said, then turned to me.
“What do you think, Kate?”
“It’s beautiful,” I replied, meaning so much more than just the tree.
The house is warm and solid now, like the love that fills it. Jason will always be in my heart, but it’s grown bigger, making room for this unexpected family brought together by a single act of kindness on a snowy Christmas Eve.
