Christmas came softly.
Not with chaos.
Not with fear.
But with home.
---
Italy welcomed them back like an old friend who had waited patiently, never asking questions, never holding grudges.
The streets were dressed in lights.
The air smelled of roasted chestnuts and sugar.
Church bells rang—not in warning, but in celebration.
For the first time in years, the Rossi family walked those streets without looking behind them.
Lucia cried when she unlocked the door to their old neighborhood apartment—different walls, different keys, but the same sky outside the window.
Marcello stood quietly for a long time, hands resting on the frame, breathing as if learning how again.
Andrea laughed.
He laughed loudly, freely, like the boy he was always meant to be.
---
Christmas dinner was loud.
Too loud.
Too full.
Plates clinked.
Voices overlapped.
Stories spilled over each other.
Isabella cooked with her mother.
Andrea stole bites and got smacked lightly for it.
Xavier helped Marcello set the table, earning a firm nod that said more than words ever could.
Later that night, under the soft glow of the tree lights, Lucia watched them carefully.
Her daughter.
The soldier.
Standing a little too close.
Smiling a little too easily.
She said nothing.
She didn't need to.
---
Snow fell on Christmas morning.
Isabella stood at the balcony, wrapped in a scarf, watching it settle on the streets below.
Xavier joined her quietly.
"Feels unreal," he said.
She nodded. "Like the world finally stopped chasing us."
He glanced at her. "Are you okay?"
She smiled—gentle, certain. "I am."
And she meant it.
---
Christmas went.
Too quickly.
As all good things do.
Soon enough, bags were packed again—not in fear this time, but in duty.
The military awaited.
Purpose awaited.
---
The drive back was quiet, but peaceful.
Andrea slept most of the way, exhausted from joy.
Isabella watched the road, her reflection faint in the window.
Xavier drove steadily.
At the gates of the barracks, the familiar weight returned—but it no longer crushed them.
It grounded them.
They stepped out together.
Not broken.
Not running.
Standing.
---
That night, Xavier looked up at the sky beyond the walls and exhaled deeply.
"For the first time," he said softly, "I don't feel like I'm fighting."
Isabella stood beside him, shoulder brushing his.
"Neither do I."
Andrea stretched behind them and grinned. "So… does this mean we won?"
Xavier smiled.
Isabella did too.
"Yes," she said. "I think we did."
And for the first time in a very long time—
victory didn't roar.
It breathed.