Christmas, 1989
Emma
The house felt alive. The smells of roast turkey and cinnamon and gravy hung in the air, and laughter drifted from room to room. Someone had left Fairytale of New York playing on the radio, and Zoey was dancing clumsily with a tinsel halo around her head.
Tommy fit in like he'd always been one of us.
He'd arrived that morning with his hair dusted in snowflakes and a bag full of small, neatly wrapped parcels. Within minutes, Mum had him in the kitchen peeling potatoes, chatting like they always did. Dad was telling him a story about football in the eighties, Teddy had joined in arguing over Arsenal versus Liverpool, and the twins sat at the table sighing and giggling every time Tommy smiled.
I stood back for a moment, watching him move through the noise and chaos of my family with an ease that made something in my chest ache. He passed Mum the salt, helped Zoey climb up onto her chair, teased the twins gently when they argued over who'd get the biggest roast potato.
He belonged here.
And for the first time, the word home felt like it meant not a place, but a person.
When we finally sat down to eat, I caught him looking across the table at me. Just a small smile — soft, knowing. My heart flipped.
After dinner, Dad put on a film, Mum made tea, and the twins fell asleep tangled together on the sofa while Zoey curled up on Tommy's lap with her stuffed rabbit. He didn't move, just held her gently until she drifted off. I caught Mum watching the two of them with a faint smile — that quiet, approving one she gave only when her heart was full.
Later, when Mum disappeared into the kitchen to tidy up, Tommy followed her, insisting she sit down for once. I peeked around the corner and saw him hand her a small box, wrapped neatly in gold paper.
"For you," he said, a little shyly. "Just a small thank-you. For having me."
She opened it carefully. Inside was a delicate glass ornament — a snowflake, threaded with silver ribbon. Mum's eyes softened as she held it up to the light.
"Oh, Tommy… it's beautiful," she said quietly. "You didn't have to."
"I wanted to," he said. "You've made me feel like part of the family."
She smiled, touched. "You are, love."
Something in me swelled with warmth at that.
A little later, I found Teddy in the hallway, nursing a half-empty glass of Coke. His shoulders were broader now, his expression still carrying that watchful edge that had never really left him since the night of the attack.
I reached into my pocket and held out a small wrapped parcel. "Merry Christmas, Teddy."
He frowned. "You didn't have to get me anything."
"Just open it," I said.
He tore back the paper and blinked. Inside was a keyring — silver, shaped like a guitar.
"It's not much," I said quickly. "I just… wanted to say thank you. For looking after me. For always being there, even when I was being… difficult."
He stared at it for a second, then looked up at me, eyes softening. "You weren't difficult, Em. You just went through hell. Anyone would've."
"I know," I said quietly. "But I'm okay now. You don't have to worry so much anymore."
He gave a small, lopsided grin. "I'll always worry. But I can see you're happy. He's good for you, that one."
I smiled, glancing toward the living room where Tommy was laughing with Dad. "Yeah. He really is."
Teddy reached out, stroked the top of my head like he had so many times since that awful night, then pulled me into a quick, rough hug. "Merry Christmas, Em."
"Merry Christmas, Teddy."
My room was warm and dimly lit by my bedside lamp. Outside, snow drifted against the window, tiny flakes catching the orange glow of the streetlamps.
Tommy stood by my dresser, holding out a parcel wrapped in red paper.
"Merry Christmas, Em."
I took it, feeling a flutter of excitement as I peeled back the tape. Inside was a soft, caramel-brown teddy bear with a red ribbon around its neck. Its fur was silky, its stitched smile crooked.
For a second, I couldn't speak.
"I remembered," he said quietly, "you told me once you never had one when you were little. I thought maybe… it's about time you did."
Something in me cracked open — not the kind that hurt, but the kind that healed. I hugged the bear to my chest, then looked up at him through blurred eyes.
"You remembered that?"
"I remember everything you say," he said softly.
I reached out and hugged him, the bear squished between us. When I pulled back, he handed me another gift — a notebook bound in beautiful dark leather, with a small silver clasp.
"It's for your recipes," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Or anything you want to write. I thought maybe… you could keep everything you make in here. All the things that make you happy."
I opened the cover. On the inside page, he'd written in neat, careful letters:
For Emma – for your dreams, your recipes, and the beautiful things you'll create.
Love forever, T
There was a small Polaroid tucked inside: me and him at the riverfront, our hair flying in the wind, both laughing.
My throat closed. "It's perfect," I whispered.
He smiled — that quiet, bashful smile that still undid me every time.
"My turn," I said, reaching for the box I'd hidden under the bed. I handed it to him, my fingers tingling as he unwrapped it.
Inside was a jumper — soft coffee-coloured wool, simple but well-made, the kind you could wear anywhere. I'd saved for weeks to buy it, wanting something he could really use.
He held it up, grinning. "It's brilliant, Em."
"Try it on," I said.
He pulled it over his head, the fabric settling perfectly over his shoulders. It brought out the colour of his eyes, and I felt suddenly shy.
"Well?" I asked.
He looked down at himself, then at me, smiling that soft, heart-twisting smile. "It's my new favourite thing."
"You say that about everything I give you," I teased.
"Because it's true every time."
For a long moment, we just sat there — me holding the teddy, him next to me in the glow of the light, wearing the jumper I'd chosen.
Then he leaned closer, his hand finding mine.
"Merry Christmas, Em," he murmured.
"Merry Christmas, Tommy."
He leaned down, and our lips met — slow, unhurried, full of warmth. No urgency, no sadness, just love.
Outside, the snow kept falling. Inside, everything was quiet and golden.
I rested my head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat.
And I thought, this is what home feels like.