Chapter 10 - The Real Midnight
December 31st, 2026.
Exactly one year later.
The house was illuminated with soft, warm white lights. Snow flurries danced gently against the windowpanes outside, but inside, the living room was filled with the delicious aroma of cinnamon, roasted pine, and hot cocoa.
There were no corporate colleagues. No champagne snobs in silk dresses. No lingering looks or quiet, cruel jokes at anyone’s expense.
There were only six people: Aunt Evelyn, Erin, her husband Mark, Liam, Clara, and me.
Liam was six years old now. He was dressed in soft, warm flannel dinosaur pajamas, sitting on the floor with his little sister, showing her how to stack wooden blocks without knocking them over. Clara giggled, her two bottom teeth showing as she knocked the tower down with a chubby little fist.
At 7:45 P.M., I walked into the kitchen and poured three little plastic flutes of fresh, sparkling apple cider.
Liam looked up, his eyes widening with pure delight.
“Is it time, Mommy?!” he asked, jumping up from the rug, his little paper crown—this one made of sturdy gold cardboard and glitter—fitting perfectly over his forehead, straight and secure.
“It is time, my sweet boy,” I smiled, setting the tray on the coffee table.
We gathered around the fireplace. Erin handed a flute to Aunt Evelyn, while Mark held Clara in his arms, helping her touch a shiny plastic horn.
I sat on the sofa, pulling Liam close into my side. He leaned against me, warm, relaxed, and safe, his small hand holding his plastic flute with complete confidence.
I looked at the grandfather clock in the hallway.
The second hand ticked steadily toward the twelve.
7:59 P.M.
“Okay everyone!” Liam shouted, his face glowing with pure, unadulterated joy. “Count with me!”
“Ten!” we all shouted together, our voices echoing warmly off the wooden beams of the ceiling.
“Nine!”
“Eight!”
“Seven!”
Liam’s laughter rang out loud and clear, a sound of absolute freedom.
“Three!”
“Two!”
“One!”
“HAPPY NEW YEAR!”
Confetti rained down over the rug—simple, colorful paper circles that Liam had spent the afternoon cutting out himself. We clinked our plastic flutes together, drinking the sweet, cold cider as laughter filled the warm room.
Liam took a big sip, wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve, and then wrapped his arms around my neck, hugging me tight.
“Mommy?” he whispered against my ear.
“Yes, my darling?”
He looked up at me, his eyes clear, bright, and filled with complete, unwavering trust.
“I love our midnight,” he whispered.
May you like
I kissed his cheek, holding him close to my heart as the clock chimed eight times, welcoming a brand-new year filled with truth, love, and endless peace.
“I love our midnight too, Liam,” I whispered back. “And nobody will ever delay it again.”
