His gaze carried something I had wanted once, years ago. Recognition. Not love. Not desire. Recognition of the weight I had carried.
But it came too late to lighten anything.
Margaret touched Olivia’s shoulder.
“Children, would you like to see the Christmas village in the dining room?”
Noah brightened. “Does it have trains?”
“Three.”
“Real trains?”
“Small ones.”
“Acceptable.”
Sophia gathered her book, Ethan took Olivia’s hand, and the four of them followed Margaret out.
At the doorway, Olivia looked back at Daniel.
“You can keep the cookie,” she said.
Then she disappeared.
Daniel stared after her until they were gone.
For the first time in eight years, we were alone in the same room.
The kitchen smelled of cinnamon, butter, and sugar. Outside the tall windows, snow fell softly over the parade lawn where my helicopter waited like a dark bird.
Daniel did not speak for several seconds.
