Visible ones.
Grandma said:
“Good.”
I stared.
“Good?”
“Room.”
“For what?”
“New things.”
I did not appreciate symbolism yet.
But she was right.
We made three new ornaments.
One for Grandma.
One for Dad.
One for me.
Malik and Zoe were with Renee at Aunt Denise’s.
They video-called.
Zoe held up an ornament she had made from cardboard.
“Can this go on your tree?”
“Yes.”
“Even though Mom—”
“Yes.”
Her face brightened.
That ornament stayed on our tree for decades.
Christmas morning was small.
No Renee.
No Malik.
No Zoe physically.
Grandma Pearl came at seven.
She brought breakfast.
Dad gave me a new sketchbook.
I gave him socks because I was thirteen and unimaginative.
Grandma gave me a little wooden box.
Inside was one blue glass fragment.
A white star.
From Mom’s heart ornament.
“I thought Helen needed all pieces.”
“She didn't.”
Grandma said.
“This one couldn't fit safely.”
I touched it.
“What do I do with it?”
“Whatever you want.”
I kept it.
Still have it.
Dad spent most of Christmas Day on phone with Renee.
Not around me.
I appreciated that.
The marriage did not end immediately.
That surprises people when I tell the story.
They expect him to throw Renee out permanently Christmas afternoon.
Life is slower.
People love.
People doubt.
Children are involved.
Finances.
Housing.
History.
Dad met with Renee.
Then a counselor.
Then another counselor without her.
He spoke to Malik and Zoe’s father.
He spoke to Grandma.
He spoke to me.
Most importantly, he started asking questions he had not asked before.
“Did this happen?”
“How often?”
“How did it make you feel?”
“What do you want?”
Not:
“What do you think I should do?”
That would have been too much responsibility.
I was thirteen.
But:
“Would you feel safe if Renee came home?”
The first time he asked, I said:
“No.”
That answer ended the possibility of immediate return.