The next two weeks are a sugar high. Christmas is only a week away, and Ansel has extended his stay. His friends understood, of course, because they seem to get that whatever has happened between us is the real deal.

Everything about it is surreal--we take a sleigh ride through the snow, and we watch Christmas movies on my couch after the kids go to bed, and we go out for drinks with his friends before they returned to Seattle. Everything about it is a fairy tale.

So much so that my family thinks it’s a complete joke. They even refused to let me bring Ansel to get a Christmas tree. I organized this event the day after Milo and Lucy had made it so clear how important it was for them.

Even though coming up here scared me, I was determined to be brave. To put one foot in front of the other. In our winter boots and snow parkas, handsaw in tow, we’re all on the mountain looking for trees.

The fact he wasn’t invited had upset Ansel. And I don’t blame him. But the last thing I wanted was for the kids to be around bunch of unhappy adults. Right now, they are all smiles, making snow balls as we walk, and when Milo tags Lucy with one, she shrieks in delight. They run up ahead, which, gives everyone else the perfect time to start their version of an intervention.

“I just think we need to get to know the guy better,” Clive says.

“Agreed,” Charlie says, placing a hand on Maggie’s back. “The fact you introduced him to the kids worries us, Greta.”

“Well, don’t worry. The kids think he’s great. Because he is great.” We had a super special time making gingerbread houses a few days ago. The entire kitchen was a flurry of candy and smiles and Christmas music. We made a memory together--there is no way I’m letting my family convince me I did something wrong in that. “And besides the fact he’s good with the kids, he’s good for me. Great for me. And he’s not going anywhere.”

“You’ve known him two weeks,” Hazel says. “It just seems fast.”

“Oh my gosh, don’t even with that. How long were you and Clive together? Or you and Mags, for that matter, Charlie? Why can’t my story be the same?”

“Because you’re more...” Maggie’s sentence peters out.

“More what?” The family goes silent. “Just tell me.”

“You’re more fragile. You and the kids have been through so much--”

I cross my arms in a huff. “Which is why we deserve to be swept off our feet as much as anyone.”

“Look, we know you’ve been having fun. Clearly, considering the mess you made with the gingerbread houses--”

“Stop,” I say louder than intended. “I told you that was private, Maggie!”

“Well, sorry. Our circle of trust is pretty tight. And what if the health department had shown up? The kitchen was--”

“Give me a break! I remember your bakery rendezvous pretty vividly,” I tell her. “You haven’t even given him a chance.”

“Because he was supposed to be a fling--a fun time--not forever,” Maggie says. “You’ve lost your marbles, Greta.”

I’m fuming, and I stomp up ahead. “Lucy, Milo, where are you?” I was so distracted with the argument, I’ve lost sight of them.

“Greta,” Clive calls. “Stop running.”

“Stop telling me what to do,” I shout back. I had been nothing but supportive of them when they decided to fall in love in a week-- why can’t they be happy for Ansel and me?

Not that we’ve said I love you ... but the feelings are there. I know they are. And as my family pushes against me, the truth hits me harder than ever.

I love Ansel.

I love that his words pieced me back together and his laughter fills the hole that has been in my heart for so long.

I love him.

But I can’t think about that-- not right now. Right now I need to find the kids. “Milo?” I shout. “It’s not funny. Come here!”

I start moving faster, running clumsily up the path, until I lose my trail.

Shoot. “Lucy?” I call, this time there is fear rising in my voice ... in my belly. “Mommy is right here.”

But I hear nothing in return.

No. No. No.

I try to turn back around, but can’t remember which way I came. My heart is pounding in my chest. Why am I on this mountain? I hate this mountain. It’s full of bad memories. How have I’ve lasted living in this town so long anyway?

A town where every street, every store, everywhere holds a memory of Luke and I.

Maybe I should just pack up my house and move west, to Seattle, to be with Ansel. A fresh start where there’s no worry about getting lost in the woods.

Tears well up in my eyes--I can’t see the kids or hear anyone--I’m lost on the mountain I hate.

“Help,” I cry. “Help!”

I’m hyperventilating, my chest aches. I need to get off this snow covered mountain and find my family and I swear... if something happens to my babies I will never recover I’ll never--ever--be whole again.

I’m spiraling out, running farther into the woods, or farther to the parking lot--I don’t even know, that’s how spun around I am. I scream again, knowing it’s the kids I’m really worried about.

The past rushes toward me, past reason and sense and all I see is the free-fall after losing Luke. I know in my heart that I’m strong, but as I drop to my knees, lost and alone, and so damn scared--all I see is losing the things most precious. Most dear.

My family.