(Aspen’s POV)
I stood in the middle of the guest house living room with a small cardboard box at my feet, staring down at its contents like they were something fragile. A string of warm white lights. A cheap plastic garland with hints of red berries woven through it. A handful of mismatched ornaments I’d picked up from a discount bin without caring if they matched.
It wasn’t much.
For the first time in a long while, I hadn’t bought these things out of obligation or guilt or fear of disappointment. I bought them because I wanted to. Because for once, I wasn’t choosing between groceries and joy.
I crouched down and pulled the lights free, testing them in the outlet. When they flickered on, I let out a sigh of relief.
This mattered.
I carried the small artificial tree out of my bedroom
