Chapter 10 - THE TRUE THANKSGIVING
One year later.
The walnut table in the grand dining room of the Holloway estate stretched beneath three crystal chandeliers, exactly as it had a year ago.
Only this time, the atmosphere was entirely different.
There were no snobs whispering behind crystal flutes. There were no corporate associates nervously eyeing their watches. Around the table sat a handful of close friends, loyal staff members who had been with the estate for decades, and—sitting quietly near the head of the table—Celeste Holloway, who had indeed apologized to Lydia three months prior.
At the center of the table rested a magnificent, twenty-eight-pound golden-brown turkey, surrounded by roasted vegetables, cranberry sauce, maple carrots, and cornbread dressing.
Lydia stood at the end of the table, wearing a simple, elegant emerald dress that fit her perfectly. Her arms were strong, unblemished by bandages, and steady as she carved the first slice of turkey.
Grant sat beside her, his hand resting casually on the back of her chair, his eyes never leaving her face.
At 8:47 p.m., the grandfather clock in the foyer chimed softly.
Grant raised his crystal champagne flute. The entire table instantly fell silent, turning their attention toward him.
Grant stood up, lifting his glass toward Lydia.
“One year ago tonight,” Grant’s voice rang clear and steady through the quiet room, carrying warmth, pride, and absolute devotion, “someone at this table gave everything of themselves to feed us, to care for us, and to hold this family together through sheer strength and grace.”
Lydia looked up at him, her heart swelling with an emotion so powerful it took her breath away.
“We didn't thank her then,” Grant continued, his eyes locking onto Lydia’s with fierce, unwavering love. “We took her labor for granted. We let pride and cruelty blind us to the incredible woman standing right in front of us.”
He raised his glass a fraction higher.
“To my wife, Lydia. The heart of this home. Thank you for choosing me. Thank you for showing me what true strength looks like. And thank you for every single day we share together.”
Twenty-one glasses rose into the air.
“To Lydia,” the entire room chorused warmly.
Lydia lifted her own glass, tears of pure happiness shimmering in her eyes. She looked across the table at Grant, then out the floor-to-ceiling windows toward the quiet, beautiful winter night.
She wasn't running anymore. She wasn't hiding.
May you like
She was home.
And as Grant reached under the table to find her hand, intertwining his fingers securely with hers, Lydia smiled, knowing that every storm they had weathered had only brought them to exactly where they were meant to be.
