Page 189 of Every Silent Lie
His head tilts, his shoulders jumping up on a shrug. “Mum loved Christmas.”
“Oh my God,” I breathe.
“I didn’t tell you because I know how much you hate December.”
“You’ve just given me another reason not to hate it as much.” I pull him in and hug the hell out of him. “But I’m just going to call you Dec.”
He laughs. “That’s fine by me.”
“I love you,” I whisper, feeling him hold me slightly tighter.
“It’s the slippers, I know.”
I smile and open my eyes, blinking when I see something floating down from the sky. Oh my.
Three perfect white feathers.
My breath hitches as they all skim my nose softly one by one, and a warmth radiates through me, making my body lift. Dec pulls me in closer in response. “Okay?” he asks, pushing his lips onto my neck. Maybe it’s an ideology, maybe I’m going stir-bloody-crazy, but those three feathers?
Noah, Dad, and Mum.
“I’m really okay.” She’s with them now. Both are looking after my boy. Mum doesn’t need to hang on to make sure I’m okay.
Because I will be. I’m going to be okay.
December started out so bleak and terrifyingly sad, just like every other month for the last thirty-six. And yet somehow, my heart doesn’t hurt so much. It still feels like there are many broken shards within, but the love filling it again is cushioning the stabs of pain those splinters cause me daily. My world was shrouded in screaming silence. I was drowning in my grief. Now? Now, I feel colour creeping back into my life. I feel love like I never thought I’d feel it again. And I feel like it’s so okay for me to accept that colour and love, and at the same time still miss him and ache for him with every fibre of my heart and being.
I can still live.
Still love.
Still wish I could have him back. Have them all back.
I look up at the white sky and smile through my tears.
It’s been you since December 1st, Camryn.
But it’s not just Dec who’s saved me.
Albi has too.
Epilogue
One Year Later
Christmas Eve
* * *
My heel dangling from my foot, I swing it gently, watching as Thomas signs on the dotted line. I don’t think so much relieved air has ever left me at the conclusion of a deal. “Done,” he says, dropping the pen and blowing his cheeks out. “And I guess I’m retired.”
I push my foot into my shoe and stand, going to him, holding my hand out. “It’s been a pleasure.”
He laughs loudly. “The past year, you mean?”
“Of course.”
He chuckles and hauls me in for a hug, and I roll my eyes but accept. “You always said you could make it happen in one year with compliance.”
