Chapter 10 - Our Own Tradition
December rolled around once again, bringing with it a brisk, refreshing coastal breeze that carried the distant scent of salt water and blooming winter jasmine.
There was no snow on the California coast, no bitter blizzards howling against the windowpanes, and certainly no suffocating holiday dinners dictated by anger and judgment.
Instead, our home was filled with the warm, twinkling glow of a massive Christmas tree decorated entirely with handmade ornaments, seashell garlands, and colorful art projects crafted by Lily over the years. The air smelled deliciously of cinnamon, vanilla, and freshly baked gingerbread cookies.
On Christmas Eve, instead of dressing up in formal, uncomfortable attire to appease a tyrant, Lily and I wore matching oversized flannel pajamas, curled up together on the plush living room sofa with mugs of hot cocoa piled high with marshmallows, and watched our favorite holiday movies while the sliding glass doors stood wide open to let in the gentle, soothing sound of the ocean waves crashing against the shore below.
Lily leaned her head comfortably against my shoulder, her eyes heavy with the sweet contentment of a child who felt completely safe, deeply cherished, and endlessly loved.
"Mommy?" she whispered softly into the quiet room.
"Yes, my love?" I murmured, resting my cheek against the top of her soft curls.
"I love our Christmas," she said, her voice full of sleepy happiness. "It's the best one in the whole wide world."
May you like
I smiled down at her, wrapping my arms tightly around her small frame as I looked out through the open balcony doors toward the vast, starlit expanse of the Pacific Ocean. The night was peaceful, beautiful, and entirely our own.
"It really is, baby," I whispered into the quiet dark, letting out a deep, liberating breath of absolute triumph. "It really is."
