Chapter 7
The holidays came fast that year.
It was the first Christmas I’d had with family in 22 years.
Sarah and Ethan moved into the apartment above the shop the week before Thanksgiving.
Ethan helped me put up Christmas lights on the shop front, standing on a step ladder, handing me clips, yelling “Higher, Grandpa! Higher!” every time I hung a string.
We baked cookies together, Sarah and Ethan covered in flour, laughing as Ethan tried to put sprinkles on every single cookie before they went in the oven.
We had Thanksgiving dinner at Mia’s house, her big family all around the table, passing plates, telling stories, making Sarah and Ethan feel like they’d been part of the group forever.
Christmas morning, I woke up to Ethan jumping on my bed at 6 AM, yelling “Santa came! Santa came!” at the top of his lungs.
Sarah followed him in, laughing, holding a mug of coffee, wearing the new silver earrings I’d made her for Christmas, small roses just like the one on the locket.
We opened presents in the living room, the tree covered in lights and tinsel, the dinosaur ornament Ethan had made at school hanging front and center.
Ethan got the T-Rex toy he’d been begging for, a dinosaur bike with training wheels, a box of dinosaur Legos that kept him busy for hours.
Sarah got the earrings, a new laptop for her nursing classes, a photo album I’d made, filled with all the photos we’d taken in the last few months—Ethan in the hospital, the custody hearing, Lila’s birthday, Ethan’s first day of preschool.
She cried when she saw it, hugged me tight, said it was the best gift she’d ever gotten.
She gave me a gift too, a small wrapped box, her hands shaking a little as I opened it.
Inside was a new silver chain for the locket, and a tiny photo of Ethan, printed small enough to fit in the empty spot next to the old polaroid of Lila and me.
On the back of the photo, in her neat handwriting: My whole heart, forever. Now and always.
I put the new photo in the locket, clipped the new chain on, put it around my neck.
It felt warm against my chest, like Lila was right there with us.
“Thank you, baby,” I said.
I hugged her tight, kissed the top of her head.
“Best Christmas ever.”
That winter was the coldest Dallas had seen in ten years, but our house was warmer than it had ever been.
Ethan had his first big post-treatment checkup in January.
We sat in the exam room, holding hands, waiting for the doctor to come in, all of us quiet, nervous.
The doctor walked in, holding Ethan’s chart, a big smile on his face.
“Great news,” she said.
She looked at Ethan, who was sitting on the exam table, swinging his legs, wearing his favorite dinosaur hoodie.
“Ethan’s cancer markers are undetectable. He’s in remission.”
Sarah screamed, threw her arms around Ethan, crying happy tears, kissing his face all over.
I laughed, wiping tears off my own cheeks, as the doctor explained what came next—regular checkups, no more chemo, a normal childhood for Ethan.
Ethan didn’t fully understand what was going on, but he knew it was good news, so he grinned, yelled “I’m better! I can run and jump and play all day now!”
We went out for ice cream after the appointment, Ethan getting a triple scoop of chocolate with sprinkles, Sarah and I getting coffee, still smiling, still crying a little.
Sarah called Mia and Mark from the parking lot, screaming the good news, as Ethan climbed into the backseat, already talking about all the things he was gonna do now that he was better—play soccer, learn to ride his bike without training wheels, go to the zoo and see the real dinosaurs.
That night, we sat on the back porch again, watching the stars, Ethan asleep on the couch inside, worn out from the excitement and the sugar.
Sarah leaned her head on my shoulder, the locket glinting in the moonlight.
“Can you believe it?” she said.
Her voice was soft, happy.
“Six months ago, I thought I was gonna lose Ethan. I thought I was all alone in the world. Now… now I have you. I have Ethan. We’re all healthy. We’re all safe. It’s like a dream.”
I squeezed her hand.
“It’s not a dream,” I said.
“It’s real. And it’s only gonna get better from here.”
Richard’s trial started in February.
We didn’t have to testify—his own bank records and text messages were enough to prove he was guilty.
The jury found him guilty on all counts after only two hours of deliberation.
The judge sentenced him to 8 years in state prison, no chance of parole for 5 years.
Mark called us after the sentencing, his voice happy.
“He’s not gonna bother you ever again,” he said.
“By the time he gets out, Ethan will be a teenager. Sarah will be a nurse. You’ll all have built a whole new life. He won’t be able to touch any of it.”
I hung up the phone, looked at Sarah, who was sitting at the kitchen table, doing her nursing homework, Ethan coloring next to her, his crayons scattered all over the table.
I didn’t say anything.
I didn’t have to.
We both knew it was over.
May you like
The bad part was done.
The rest of our lives were just beginning.
