December was harder. The shops hung wreaths, the promenade lights shimmered on cold evenings, and every advertisement suggested that happiness could be purchased as a gift and wrapped by a cashier. I had always been in charge of decorating our house. Nolan hauled boxes from the attic, untangled lights without complaint, and pretended to be startled each year by the number of ornaments I owned. This time I unpacked only a small box and set a four-foot tree near the window. Half the ornaments had come from trips we'd taken together. I hung them anyway, refusing to pretend those years had been erased because the marriage had ended.
On Christmas Eve, I went to my parents' house. Dad had made clam chowder, Tessa and Ben brought fresh bread, and Mom set out the familiar chipped serving bowls. For the first time in years there were no two plates reserved for the Harts. At dinner, Mom asked whether anyone had heard from Nolan, then caught herself and apologized. I told her that Daniel had mentioned he was spending Christmas with his mother and nieces. My father nodded, and the conversation turned to Tessa's wedding invitations. We were learning how to talk about a person we still loved without pretending we had a claim on him.
After dinner I helped Dad rinse dishes. He passed me a towel and said he was proud I had kept going to counseling. I told him I didn't feel especially admirable. "That's not what I said," he replied. "I'm proud you kept going when you knew the truth might not give you what you wanted." He dried a plate slowly, as if trying to find the right words. "You were always quick to do things well when people were watching. Learning to do the right thing when it costs you something is harder. Keep practicing." I laughed through tears and said he sounded like he was handing me a homework assignment. He told me he had always been my father, not my audience.
Nolan's mother, Ruth, sent a short holiday card in January. It contained no update about her son, only a photograph of the winter harbor and a note wishing me peace. I had been close to Ruth since Nolan and I started dating, and I had avoided contacting her because I was ashamed of what she must think. I wrote back, apologizing for the pain I had caused her family and thanking her for being kind to me over the years. I did not ask her to speak to Nolan. She called a week later and said, "I don't know whether he will ever come back, Brielle. He's a grown man, and that's his decision. But you are still a person I hope will have a good life." I held the phone to my ear long after we said goodbye, stunned by the generosity of a wish that asked nothing in return.