Christmas arrived without spectacle.
There were no crowds pressing against the edges of their lives, no obligations pulling them outward, no expectation that the day should be anything other than what it was. The city beyond their windows moved through the season with its usual brightness and noise, but inside the house time slowed, settling into a rhythm Willow had learned to associate with safety rather than withdrawal.
The house did not retreat from the world.It simply did not ask anything from it.
The day before Christmas, Willow told Zane what she wanted to do.
They were standing in the kitchen, the late afternoon light slanting across the counter, Zana content in her high chair, fingers occupied with a soft spoon she was determined to feed herself with. Willow watched her for a moment before speaking, as though drawing steadiness from the ordinary domesticity of the moment.
"I want to visit my dad," she said quietly. "Before tomorrow."
