“It’s perfect, Mommy,” Milo squeals in delight as he adds the angel to the top of the Christmas tree. Ansel holds him up to the top, and below, Lucy beams. Both of my children’s faces are written in joy, and colorful lights make the room sparkle.

It is certainly the happiest time of year.

“Now we’ve got to put cookies out for Santa,” Lucy directs, taking Milo’s hand and leading him to the kitchen. Calling to me over her shoulder she asks, “Mom do you think Santa would want milk or eggnog?”

I look over at my husband, Ansel, and smile. “Eggnog,” I answer, knowing Ansel will add a little whiskey to it once the kids have gone to bed. “And you can each pick a cookie to have before bed.”

They shout their thanks with glee and I turn up the Christmas music. The living room is filled with Bing Crosby crooning about a White Christmas. I look around our home, I feel so at peace. Ansel’s laptop is on his desk in the corner, closed for the week--we’re both taking time off actually--and the tree is already stacked high with presents for extended family.

“Thank you,” I tell him, as he pulls me against his chest. “For making this Christmas so special.”

“I’m glad we have this night as a family,” he says. “Because I know that tomorrow, with Maggie and Charlie here with their little guy Andrew, and Clive and Hazel here with Luke Jr, the day will be busy.”

“I know,” I sigh contentedly as Ansel pulls me to the couch. I hear the kids in the kitchen giggling over their Christmas treats. “But it’s easier for us to host, so they don’t have to hassle with company when they’re busy with their newborns.”

“Will that be us next year?” Ansel asks, lacing my fingers with his, resting them on the slight bump of my belly.

“Nah.” I look up at him, his handsome face still taking my breath away. “I’ve been through this before, I won’t be a basket case like Mags or overly intense like Hazel.”

“What will you be?”

“Grateful, mostly.”

Ansel leans down and kisses me tenderly. My chest tightens--sometimes it’s overwhelming to have so very much.

“Ewww,” Milo groans throwing himself at us on the couch. “No kissing, it’s present time!”

Ansel tickles him, pulling him into his lap as I scoot over and make room for Lucy.

“No, Milo,” Lucy says. “Not until tomorrow. We just set out cookies and milk. Now it’s time for bed.”

I raise my eyes, smirking. “Wow, a little girl declining presents! I’ve never heard such thing, have you honey?” I ask, looking over at Ansel.

“Never. And such a shame, since we put a gift for each of you under the tree.”

“But that’s Santa’s job,” Milo says, scrunching up his face.

“Well, we’re Santa’s helpers, tonight.”

“Did you really get us an early gift?” Lucy asks, her eyes so bright I’m nearly blinded by her beauty.

“We did,” Ansel says, pulling himself off the couch and kneeling under the tree. “Looks like one for Lucy,” he says, handing it to her.

She takes it from him, then wraps an arm around his neck and kisses the side of his head. “Thanks Daddy.”

Her words cause a lump to form in my throat. It is the most bittersweet thing, hearing her say that. When Ansel hands Milo a wrapped package, I think the gift-giving is done, but then, he hands me a box too.

“For me?” I frown--not having an early gift planned for him.

He nods. “The kids first though.”

Lucy tears hers open and finds a gorgeous hardback copy of Hans Christian Anderson Fairy Tales. And when Milo opens his, he finds an illustrated edition of Brother’s Grimm. Their tiny hands flip through the pages, enamored by the books Ansel and I chose with care.

Lucy closes her book, running her fingertips over the title. “You two are cheesy, you know that?” she says, grinning.

“We know,” I say, laughing, and loving my daughter’s ability to pick up on our family’s inside jokes.

“Now your turn, Mommy,” Milo says.

I look at the box in my lap--it’s pretty heavy and I guess Ansel found a book for me too. Unwrapping the corners of the wrapping paper, I pull off a lid.

Inside is a stack of papers, probably three hundred pages thick.

“What’s this?” I ask, my eyes already filling with tears. Because I know.

“It’s for you,” Ansel says. When I dare look up at him, I blink to stop the tears from falling down my cheeks. “It’s the sequel to Sarah’s story. The first draft.”

Reading the title, I say, “Her Strong Heart.”

The dedication on the first page is everything:

* * *