Page 37 of Chloe

“Oh,” I breathe, the realization hitting me like a physical force. “Oh, I’ve been such an idiot.”

“Everything okay in here?” Rebecca’s voice from the doorway makes me jump.

I look up at her, feeling dazed. “I... I don’t think I can go back to Boston,” I say, the words tumbling out before I can stop them.

Rebecca’s eyebrows shoot up. “Really? What changed your mind?”

I gesture helplessly around the classroom, at the remnants of the party, at the crayon drawing still clutched in my hand. “All of this. These kids, this town... I’ve changed, Rebecca. I don’t want to be that cold, hard businesswoman anymore. I want to be someone who makes cookies for sad strangers and organizes toy drives and... and believes in the magic of Christmas.”

A slow smile spreads across Rebecca’s face. “Well,” she says softly, “it sounds like you’ve had quite the epiphany.”

I nod, feeling a bit overwhelmed. “I have. But I don’t know what to do now. I’ve messed things up so badly with Oliver...”

Rebecca comes to sit beside me, somehow folding her long legs under the tiny desk. “Chloe,” she says gently, “the beautiful thing about Christmas is that it’s a time for new beginnings. For forgiveness and hope. It’s not too late to make things right.”

I look at her, really look at her, and for a moment, I could swear there’s something... different about her. A soft glow, maybe, or a depth to her eyes that I’ve never noticed before. But then I blink, and she’s just Rebecca again, smiling at me encouragingly.

“You really think so?” I ask, hating how vulnerable I sound.

Rebecca nods firmly. “I know so. But Chloe, this has to be about more than just Oliver. This has to be about you, about the person you want to be.”

Her words resonate deeply within me. She’s right, I realize. This isn’t just about salvaging a romance or fitting into a small town. It’s about becoming the person I’ve caught glimpses of over the past few weeks—someone kinder, more open, more willing to give of herself.

“You’re right,” I say, straightening my shoulders. “I need to do this for me. Even if things don’t work out with Oliver, even if I end up going back to Boston eventually, I want to be different. Better.”

Rebecca’s smile is radiant. “That’s the spirit. Now, what do you say we finish cleaning up here, and then we can brainstorm about your next steps?”

As we work, chatting and laughing, I feel a lightness in my chest—something akin to anticipation.

By the time we finish, the classroom is spotless, and I have the beginnings of a plan forming in my mind. It’s not much – just a few ideas about how to show Oliver I’m sincere, but it’s a start.

As we leave the school, the winter sun is already setting, casting long shadows across the snow-covered playground and my plane back to Boston is long gone. The air nips with cold. In the distance, I can hear the faint sound of carolers.

“Thank you, Rebecca,” I say as we pause at the school gates. “For dragging me here today, for everything.”

She waves off my thanks with a laugh. “That’s what friends are for. Now, go on. You’ve got some Christmas magic to make happen.”

As I walk back towards my grandmother’s house, my mind is whirling with plans and possibilities. The twinkling lights of Benton Falls seem brighter somehow, more welcoming. Or maybe it’s just that I’m finally seeing them – really seeing them – for the first time.

I pause on the bridge over the Bedford River, looking out at the town spread before me. The courthouse clock chimes the hour, its sound carrying clearly in the still evening air. Somewhere in that sea of lights is Oliver, going about his evening, probably still hurt and angry.

“I’m going to make this right,” I whisper into the night. “I’m going to be better. For me, for Oliver, for this town. I promise.”

And as I stand there, snow falling gently around me, I feel something I haven’t felt in a very long time: hope. Pure, unbridled hope for the future, for the person I’m becoming.

I take a deep breath, letting the cold air fill my lungs. It feels cleansing somehow, like I’m breathing in the spirit of Christmas itself. As I exhale, I let go of the last vestiges of my old self – the cynicism, the fear, the need for control.

Tomorrow is a new day. A day to make amends, to build the life I want, to embrace the magic of Christmas that I’ve been fighting against for so long.

With a smile on my face and a spring in my step, I head home. Not to Boston, not to my old life, but to the cozy bungalow that’s become more of a home to me in a few short weeks than my sleek city apartment ever was.

As I walk, I hum “Silent Night” under my breath. Christmas concerts must be contagious.

Seventeen

CHLOE

Ihunker down in my scarf as I make my way towards the Community Christmas Market. Snowflakes dance in the glow of the street lamps, dusting my coat with a fine layer of white. The scent of roasting nuts, sweet treats and deep fried yumminess wafts through the air, growing stronger as I approach the park.

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