My mother began to cry.
Emma pointed at her.
“Just tonight.”
Everyone laughed.
And somehow, that laughter did what years of forced holidays never had.
It made room.
At midnight, snow began to fall outside the cottage windows, soft and silver under the porch light. Children pressed their faces to the glass. Someone started counting backward even though the hour had already passed. Dad kissed the top of my head. Cassandra took a picture of Tyler pretending not to smile. My mother sat in Grandma Rose’s chair with her hands folded in her lap, looking not forgiven exactly, but invited to keep becoming someone who might be.
Noah slipped his compass into my palm.
“Check it,” he said.
I opened it.
The needle trembled, then settled.
North.
Steady.
Emma leaned against my side.
“Mom?”
“Hmm?”
“Last year was awful.”
“Yes.”
“But if it didn’t happen, would we have Rose House?”
