siete años, Lucas asistió a la medianoche.
Nadie lo corrigió.
Contamos hacia atrás desde diez.
Violet threw paper confetti before reaching three.
Everyone cheered.
Luke climbed onto my lap.
“Is tomorrow Christmas again?”
– No.
– ¿Por qué?
“That’s how calendars work.”
“I don’t like calendars.”
“Neither do I.”
He leaned against me.
The simple weight of him felt astonishing.
Across the room, Cassandra watched.
Our eyes met.
Something passed between us.
Not reconciliation.
Aún no.
La confianza no había vuelto.
Pero la confianza ya no era imposible.
En enero, regresé a
