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The words hang between us, heavy with implications I don’t fully understand.

"I don’t know exactly what you’ve been through," he continues, "but I can imagine that you and I want very different things from a relationship. If I ever crossed a line with you, if I ever hurt you, I wouldn’t forgive myself."

His gaze locks on mine, and for a moment, the world is still. The vulnerability in his voice catches me off guard, and I don’t know how to respond.

"I see," I manage to say, though I’m not sure I do.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CLAIRE

The snow outside is falling steadily, painting the world in a cold, quiet blanket of white. Inside, the glow of string lights around the living room and the faint crackle of the fireplace fill the apartment with warmth. It’s so familiar yet such a stark contrast to my childhood Christmases, and I’m not quite sure how to feel about it.

On one hand, it feels so much quieter than usual. My chest aches with the absence of the chaotic joy I once knew, the laughter of my siblings as we crowded into the kitchen, bickering over recipes and sampling dishes behind my mother’s back before they made it to the table. The scent of cinnamon and roasting meat would fill the air, and my father would lead us in prayer with his hands outstretched in blessing. Despite everything—the control, the restrictions—there had been moments of comfort in that simple togetherness.

But now, there’s a different sort of happiness to be felt. Even though I miss my family in a complicated, undoubtedly romanticized sort of way, it’s nice to simply exist without expectations. It’s quiet here with just Mark and me, but there is no underlying tension or need to put on an act. Here, I can be myself without worrying about whether or not my father will get angry, and I don’t have to play the role of the subservient daughter and soon-to-be housewife.

I’m starting to learn that there will always be tradeoffs between blissful ignorance and freedom, but I’d rather pay the price for liberation.

I curl up in the corner of Mark’s couch. A blanket is draped over my lap, and I fidget with the fringe on the edges as Mark flips through the stack of DVDs he pulled from a nearby shelf. The tension between us has been palpable these last few days, ever since that conversation where he admitted I was "desirable." The word had landed like a spark between us, igniting something I don’t fully understand but feel viscerally every time we’re in the same room.

"What aboutA Christmas Story?" Mark asks, holding up a DVD case with a kid in glasses on the cover.

"I haven’t seen it."

He arches an eyebrow, clearly surprised, but moves on. "Okay.Home Alone?"

I shake my head.

Mark stares at me. "Wait, hold on. You’ve never seenHome Alone?"

"No." I bite my lip, feeling a little defensive under his incredulous gaze. "I told you—I didn’t grow up watching movies like that."

He sets the DVDs down and looks at me with a mixture of amusement and confusion. Maybe a little pity. "What didyou watch, then?"

I shrug, suddenly self-conscious. "Our access to movies was limited. We didn’t have normal TV channels or anything. Just an old VHS/DVD player and a stack of approved movies."

"Approved by who?" he asks.

"My father, and therefore the church." I look down at the blanket in my lap, fiddling with the fringe again to avoid his gaze. "They were mostly religious."

There’s a beat of silence. "So you’ve never seen a Christmas movie that wasn’t religious?"

"I don’t think so. Definitely not any of the ones you just listed," I admit.

"What aboutIt’s a Wonderful Life? That has a religious element. Sort of."

"Nope."

Mark shakes his head, muttering something under his breath. "Alright, we’re fixing this." He picks up a DVD with a black-and-white cover. "This one is a classic, and it has an angel, so it technically counts as religious… I think. We’re starting here."

"Okay." I still haven’t watched anything outside of our "approved" movies, so I’m not entirely sure what to expect. If my father didn’t have it in his collection, it means there’s something in it he wouldn’t approve of, especially since it’s a Christmas movie. But Mark says it has a religious aspect to it, so I’m interested to see where the divide is.

Mark heads toward the kitchen, calling over his shoulder, "Do you want a drink? Wine? Eggnog?"

"Umm, I’m not sure…"

"Oh, shit, I forgot you don’t drink," he says.