Page 33 of A Constant Christmas

About halfway through, I stop and look at him. “I still don’t get it. Is this like where I have to do a weird scavenger hunt to figure out my present?”

He smiles. “Just keep going.”

Reluctantly, I keep going flipping through each one.

Grass.

Grass.

Grass.

But in the last photo, I see a sign. An actual physical sign.

It reads:

Future home of The Flemming Center for Women and Children

“The Flemming Center?” I whisper.

“Yes. The Flemming Center. Somewhere that women and children can go to feel safe when they have nowhere else. Somewhere they can go and find the resources and help they need,” he responds.

Now, my tears stream harder down my face. “But…I mean why the Flemming center? I’m sure that your money paid for all of this. Your name should be on it.”

“First of all, we are married. It’s our money. And second, this is your dream. This is going to be run by you. All those years ago, Samantha Flemming was abused and came out stronger on the other side. Samantha Flemming is the one who met her attacker head-on and won. Samantha Flemming’s name should be on that building.”

Now, I’m full-on ugly-crying.

“Do you like it?” He asks nervously.

“I love it,” I whisper. “Back then, I didn’t know who to turn to, so instead, I retreated into myself for years until someone came along and showed me life was worth living. Really living. That was you. And I would love to be able to give that hope to other women who need it.”

He pulls me into his arms, and I’m pretty sure I’m getting snot all over his shirt. He holds me for a moment before I lean back.

“But how am I supposed to run the center? I mean I don’t want to give up my time with the kids.” It’s as though I can see my dream being flushed down the drain right in front of me.

“Well, there’s one more surprise.”

“You have to stop!” I laugh.

“From the hours of 9-5 every day, we will have help.”

I just keep giving him a confused look

“I thought we could bring in someone with a little experience dealing with Wendell children.”

At that moment, Jacinda comes walking in from the kitchen. My eyes go wide as though I’ve seen a ghost. I hurriedly hand Tyler the photos and run over to her, wrapping her in a monstrous hug.

“I told you she was back,” Tyler said.

“But your mother…” I begin to say to the rosy-cheeked woman I have grown to love so much.

“She’s doing just fine right here in New York. While I was away, we got her citizenship paperwork going, so she was able to come back with me,” she wipes away my tears. “Stop crying, little Sam. You’re too pretty to cry.”

“God, I missed you,” I choke out.

When I finally let her go, I take a moment to walk into the kitchen and compose myself.

I’m running some cold water on my face when I hear footsteps behind me.

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