Page 62 of Snowy Secrets

Ginny hugs her grandma tightly, promising to visit soon, and then we head toward the Subaru Outback. River sees us coming and waves. His eyes search mine as I hand Wyatt our suitcases. "How did it go?"

I shake my head, feeling the tears threaten again. "Not well. He can't accept it."

River wraps his arms around me, pulling me close. "I'm sorry, Bella. I know that must have been hard."

Wyatt steps up, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder. "We're here for you, no matter what."

There's no time to dwell on it with Ginny being as energetic and happy as she is. I signal toward her, and River bundles her up in his arms, helping her into the car. She squeals in delight. Marcus takes the car booster seat from me, and we buckle Ginny in, making sure she's secure before sliding into the passenger seat. River and Wyatt climb into the back.

Marcus starts the engine, the Outback rumbling to life.

Ginny chatters happily. Marcus reaches over, taking my hand in his. "We're going to be okay, Bella."

I squeeze his hand. "I know." Now that one big part of my life feels comparatively smoother, a lot of things begin making more sense. I look out the window as we drive.

The road winds through the towering pines of Whispering Pines, their emerald needles whispering secrets in the breeze. The late afternoon sun filters through the trees, casting dappledshadows across the gravel road. Ginny gasps, pointing excitedly at a group of deer grazing by the roadside.

"Look, Mommy! Deer!" she exclaims, her eyes wide with delight.

River turns to see, a smile spreading across his face. "Aren't they beautiful, Ginny?"

She nods vigorously, her little hands pressed against the window. "So pretty! Can we take one home?"

We all laugh, the tension from earlier melting away in the face of her innocence. "They're wild, sweetie," I say, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "They belong here in the forest."

As we continue our drive, the landscape opens up to rolling hills blanketed in snow and expansive meadows glistening under the setting sun. The sky is a canvas of warm oranges and pinks, the sun painting everything golden. Ginny babbles on about the deer while Marcus slows down as we approach a bend. The peaks are dusted with snow, standing majestically against the pastel sky. I roll down the window, letting the crisp, pine-scented air fill the car.

"Almost there," Marcus murmurs, his voice the soothing equivalent of a white noise machine. He's sensed Ginny's descent into the realm of the Overtired Child, a place where the laws of physics and reason no longer apply. It won't be long before she goes from being a giggly cherub to a tiny dictator demanding a snack that doesn't exist, followed by a tearful meltdown over the injustice of it all.

Marcus knows the signs. The manic glint in her eye, the frantic energy that makes her bounce off walls like a caffeinated squirrel. If he doesn't intervene soon, we're all doomed to a night of shadow puppets and lullabies that last until dawn.

"What is it with kids and naps?" he mutters, as if the universe might offer up a cosmic explanation. I grin to myself, because I don't know either. Is it a biological imperative designed to testthe limits of parental sanity? A secret society of toddlers plotting to overthrow bedtime?

We round the final corner, and our cabin comes into view, nestled among the trees. Smoke curls from the chimney.

"I left a chicken roasting in the oven," Wyatt explains.

"My favorite," I think out loud. "You knew I'd return, didn't you?"

I can't see him, but I know he's grinning. "I had a hunch."

Marcus parks the car, and we all pile out, stretching our legs. Ginny runs ahead, her laughter ringing through the clearing.

River wraps an arm around my shoulders, pulling me close. "It's good to be with you," he says softly.

I lean into him, feeling the solidity of his presence. "I can say the same."

Marcus has gone in and is trying to get Ginny to nap. The others and I stand at the entryway, chuckling as we watch him run after my little tyrant. Oh, if only Ginny had her plastic sword right now.

To his credit, Marcus knows the drill. He scoops Ginny up, her tiny body vibrating with the energy of a thousand espresso shots. "Time for sleepy-bye," he coos, channeling his inner sloth.

Ginny, of course, has other plans. She wriggles and squirms, protesting with a ferocity that belies her size. Marcus perseveres, employing a combination of gentle rocking and whispered promises of milk and cookies.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Ginny's eyelids begin to droop. Her protests fade into soft snores, and her limbs go limp. Marcus breathes a sigh of relief, the battle won. I almost give him a round of applause. The only thing stopping me is knowing my kid will wake up immediately.

He whispers something about tucking her into the nursery and rolls his eyes dramatically as he goes up the stairs, my daughter snug in his arms. It doesn't feel weird. In fact, what'sweird is how light I feel, how oddly at peace with the idea that I'll have help raising Ginny.

My eyes fall on the calendar. The time has literally flown, and tomorrow is Christmas. Everything is just fitting so beautifully, if only Dad…

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