Chapter 35

Cassie insisted on carrying the dinosaur herself.

Beth had offered—twice—but the little girl had cradled the plush close to her chest, arms wrapped tight around its fat green belly, face stern with the responsibility of it all. She wore the hoodie Changbin had left for her on the table that morning—forest green with a glittering gold zipper and sleeves that still hung past her wrists. Her mismatched Christmas socks slapped against the apartment's laminate flooring with every determined step.

"Ready?" Beth asked gently, pulling her own hoodie—Changbin's hoodie—more snugly around her. She had brushed her hair but hadn't bothered with makeup. Her body still held the hum of adrenaline from the call with Henry, but she'd buried it deep. This was Cassie's morning. She wouldn't let anything—anyone—steal it.

Cassie nodded seriously, still half-asleep but running on holiday magic and stuffed dinosaur energy. She held up one hand, showing ten fingers. "Ten presents."

Beth raised a brow. "Ten?"

"Maybe eleven," Cassie amended. "If someone got me a horse."

Beth laughed under her breath, locking the door behind them. "Good to know where the bar is."

Changbin waited near the threshold, keys in one hand, the other resting lightly against the small of Beth's back as they stepped into the hallway. He didn't say much—he rarely did when it wasn't needed—but his presence was solid, like a weighted blanket draped over the edges of her morning. Quiet, grounding, necessary.

The hallway between apartments was warm and dimly lit, still holding the hush of early morning. Beth could hear faint sounds from behind Alex's door—music maybe, or voices in soft conversation. Cassie bounced ahead a few paces, then stopped and turned around, dinosaur hugged to her chest.

"Does Auntie Alex know we're coming?"

"She knows," Beth said. "But she doesn't know you have a dino bodyguard now, so you might have to introduce them."

Cassie nodded solemnly. "He bites bad guys."

Beth glanced sideways at Changbin, catching the tiny smile tugging at his mouth. His arm brushed hers as they walked. Not accidental. Not demanding. Just... there.

By the time they reached Alex's apartment, the door was already cracked open. A soft glow spilled out into the hallway—Christmas lights, strings of them, casting patterns on the walls. Beth could hear laughter inside now. Someone—Elliot, by the cadence—was singing badly on purpose, drawing groans and giggles from whoever else was listening.

Cassie darted ahead and peeked through the gap, then gasped so dramatically Beth thought for a second she'd seen Santa himself.

"Look at all the stuff!" Cassie squealed, yanking the door open and barreling inside without waiting for permission.

Beth followed at a more cautious pace, pausing at the threshold. The air inside was thick with cinnamon and warmth, bright with color, every surface decorated in twinkle lights, garland, and soft reds and greens. A small Christmas tree stood in the corner, glowing gently beneath a mess of paper snowflakes, ribbon, and handmade ornaments.

And surrounding it—blankets piled on the floor, gift bags nestled beside wrapped boxes—were people who had made it a home.

Elizabeth stood near the stove in a red apron, stirring something fragrant in a large pot. Chan was crouched beside Alex on the couch, helping her adjust the blanket over her lap while Elliot passed out mugs of cocoa with candy canes hanging off the sides. Felix sat cross-legged on the floor, arms open as Cassie launched herself into them like a cannonball.

"Whoa! Merry Christmas to you too!" he laughed, catching her easily.

Beth lingered for a second longer, letting it wash over her. The joy. The normalcy. The miracle of it, really. That after everything—Jakarta, custody courtrooms, hospital beds and sleepless nights—they had this. Laughter. Cocoa. Light.

And people who had shown up.

Changbin touched her elbow gently, nudging her forward.

She stepped inside.

The warmth of the apartment wrapped around Beth like a second skin the moment she crossed the threshold. It smelled like cinnamon and cloves, like vanilla bean and cardamom, like someone had thrown every scent she associated with safety into a simmering pot and left it to steep. The walls shimmered with soft light—twinkle strands strung along the ceiling beams and tucked behind curtain rods, casting delicate reflections against the windows. It was festive without being excessive, homemade in all the right ways. Lived-in. Loved.

Cassie was already deep in the action, settled on the floor in Felix's lap as he held up each gift under the tree to announce the name written on the tag. She grinned with all her teeth, dinosaur plush in one arm, legs kicking excitedly as she pointed to each package like she was marking targets.

"Mommy, there's so many!" she yelled, as if Beth hadn't seen the pile already.

Beth smiled and eased out of her shoes, slipping them neatly by the door. "Looks like Santa had help this year," she said as she peeled off her coat, folding it over one arm. Changbin did the same beside her, mirroring her movements without a word. When she looked up, his eyes were already scanning the room—not just observing, but reading. Making sure. Present.

Alex saw her first. She was propped up in the corner of the couch, half-buried in blankets, a knitted cap pulled low over her ears. Her color looked better today—less sallow, less paper-thin. Still fragile, but whole in a way that reached deeper than just skin. Chan hovered close, one hand on her arm, eyes flicking between her and the commotion with fond exasperation.

Alex's mouth pulled into a quiet smile when she saw Beth, something slow and sure that softened the edge of everything around it.

"You made it," she said simply, voice a little hoarse but warm with meaning.

Beth crossed the room, crouching beside the couch to pull her into a careful hug. She was all bones and healing muscle under the blankets, but the embrace was firm, real. Familiar.

"Wouldn't miss it," Beth murmured against her shoulder.

When she pulled back, Elizabeth was already making her way over from the stove, apron dusted in flour and a smear of something red—cranberry sauce or lipstick, it was hard to tell. She kissed Beth's cheek without warning and handed her a warm mug of cocoa that smelled like dark chocolate and crushed peppermint.

"Cassie's going to be impossible to wind down after all this," Elizabeth said, smiling. "But I regret nothing."

Beth laughed and took a long sip. The heat settled deep in her chest, anchoring her in place.

From across the room, Elliot whistled. "Okay, but did anyone tell Cassie we were going to gradually open gifts and not launch into a full tactical assault?"

Cassie whipped around with narrowed eyes. "You're not the boss of Santa!"

That earned a round of laughter from the whole room—Beth included. And just like that, it was Christmas. Not the one she used to have, not the ones she'd dreamed about when things with Henry still sparkled. But something better. Something chosen.

Changbin stood behind her, shifting slightly as if unsure where he fit in the burst of motion and sound. Beth turned and caught his sleeve, gently tugging him into the room.

"You're part of this too," she said, quiet enough that only he could hear.

His eyes flicked to hers, then to Alex, who offered a knowing smile and a tiny wave from the couch.

Felix leaned over Cassie's shoulder and whispered something that made her squeal with delight—probably about the pile of gifts she hadn't even noticed yet. Chan handed Alex a water bottle with a straw. Elizabeth adjusted the pot on the stove. Elliot called dibs on a blanket before diving into the floor pillows like a drama queen.

And Beth... just stood for a moment. Watching. Breathing it in.

Safe.

"I got you something," Alex said suddenly, drawing her gaze.

Beth blinked. "What?"

Alex smiled like it was obvious. "Well, Cassie got a dinosaur. I figured you deserved at least that much."

She reached under the coffee table and pulled out a box wrapped in plain brown paper and tied with string. Nothing flashy. Nothing loud. But Beth's throat tightened anyway when she took it.

It had weight.

Not just physical. Something else.

She sank onto the floor beside Cassie, still holding the box. Her fingers ran over the edges, tracing the folds in the paper like she was trying to memorize the shape of this moment. She looked around once more—at the family they'd become, the strange constellation of people who had orbited into each other's lives not by force, but by gravity. Choice.

And then she smiled. Small, but real.

"Merry Christmas," she said quietly.

Cassie looked up from her pile of presents, cheeks pink with joy.

"It's the best one ever," she whispered.

"Really?" Beth asked her.

Cassie nodded so hard her curls bounced, face radiant beneath the flush of excitement and cocoa. She tightened her grip on the dinosaur plush, which now wore a tiny paper bow stuck to its head like a crown.

"The best one ever ever," she declared.

Beth's chest ached—full, not fractured. She reached over and tucked a stray strand of hair behind Cassie's ear, smoothing it with the pad of her thumb. "Good," she murmured, voice barely above a whisper. "That's all I wanted."

Cassie beamed and promptly dove back into the gifts, unbothered by wrapping paper or rules. She opened presents in a blur of squeals and thank-yous, shrieks of delight and declarations of favorites that changed with each new toy. A puzzle from Elliot. A soft book from Elizabeth. A doll from Felix with matching pink sunglasses. A glittery art kit that made Beth wince reflexively, though the smile didn't leave her face.

At one point, Cassie tugged on Elliot's sleeve, holding up a fuzzy purple scarf. "Is this for the dinosaur or me?"

He gasped with mock offense. "Obviously both. It's couture."

The scarf was promptly wrapped around the dinosaur's neck, and the plush was seated like a king among the gifts, watching over the festivities.

Chan passed a gift bag to Alex and helped her steady it in her lap. She opened it slowly, careful with the tissue paper, and pulled out a handmade sketchbook—its leather cover worn and stitched, a single moon etched into the front.

Beth watched the way her friend traced the lines of it. Reverent. Steady. She didn't cry, but her eyes gleamed. Her hand found Chan's without needing to look.

Beth looked away. Not out of discomfort. Just to give them that space. That moment.

A shadow fell over her shoulder. She turned slightly—Changbin was crouched beside her now, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped. He didn't say anything, but his eyes flicked down to the box still in her lap.

Beth glanced at it, then back at him.

"Should I open it now?" she asked quietly.

He nodded once.

Carefully, she tugged the string loose, lifting the corners of the paper as if it might tear from memory alone. Inside was a box, and inside that—a wrapped journal, bound in dark green linen with a brass corner on the lower right. No lines on the pages. Just space. Possibility.

Tucked inside the front cover was a folded slip of paper, a note written in Alex's neat, looping script.

For when the words come back. They will.

Beth blinked hard, tears pricking—but not falling. Not here. Not yet.

"Thank you," she said softly, turning the journal in her hands. "It's beautiful."

Changbin leaned a little closer, eyes flicking to the journal, then back to her face. He didn't speak, but his expression held something quiet and steady—approval, maybe. Or understanding. The kind of look that didn't demand anything but still made her feel seen.

Beth traced a finger over the fabric cover, letting herself breathe with it, settle into the weight and warmth of the moment. Then she set the journal gently aside and turned toward him, just enough to share space, to open the circle around them a little wider.

Cassie shrieked with laughter somewhere behind her—Elliot had apparently tried to wrap a bow around her head, and she was now defending herself with the plush dinosaur like a knight with a very soft sword. Felix encouraged the chaos, Elizabeth scolded half-heartedly, and Alex watched it all from the couch with a look of exhausted joy.

Beth leaned a little closer to Changbin and murmured, "You okay?"

He tilted his head, surprised by the question. Then nodded. "Yes. Good."

She smiled and nudged his arm gently with her shoulder. "You're quiet."

He looked thoughtful for a moment, then typed something into the translation app on his phone. When he turned the screen toward her, it read:

"I don't want to interrupt. This feels important."

Beth blinked down at it, her chest tightening all over again—but not in pain. It was something deeper. Gentler. A kind of recognition she hadn't known how to name before. She looked up, met his gaze, and whispered, "It is."

She didn't mean the gifts. Not the tree. Not even the laughter.

She meant the stillness between them. The way it fit. The way he didn't press.

Cassie came bounding over then, dinosaur and scarf both askew, cheeks flushed with energy. She skidded to a stop beside Beth and threw herself into her lap without warning.

"Mommy! Look what Uncle Chan gave me!" She held up a glittering snow globe with a tiny Christmas tree inside, flakes swirling as she shook it. "It's magic."

Beth caught her in a careful hug and kissed the top of her head. "It's perfect."

Cassie looked up at Changbin then, still sprawled half across Beth's knees. "Did you get a present?"

Changbin blinked, startled. "Me?"

Cassie nodded solemnly. "Everybody gets a present. That's the rule."

He laughed softly, then shook his head. "No present. I'm okay."

Cassie frowned and turned to Beth. "We have to fix it."

Beth grinned, brushing a strand of hair out of her daughter's face. "I think just being here is his present, sweetie."

Cassie looked unconvinced. "Hmm."

She slid off Beth's lap and disappeared into the growing mountain of wrapping paper and boxes. A few seconds later, she returned with a glittery candy cane ornament and a sparkly purple ribbon. She shoved both into Changbin's hands and announced, "Now you have two."

Changbin stared down at the offerings, then looked up with wide, delighted eyes. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Cassie said with royal gravity, then turned and bounded back into the chaos.

Beth caught his eye, her smile quiet and full.

"You're officially in the club," she whispered.

He nodded, still cradling the candy cane and ribbon like priceless treasures. "Best club."

Later that afternoon, the festivities carried on around her—gifts unwrapped, cocoa refilled, laughter tucked into the corners of every conversation—but Beth could feel herself slowly drifting into the edges of it all. Not in a bad way. Just... full. Quiet. Ready for a breath that didn't have to carry anyone else's weight.

Cassie had wriggled her way into a blanket fort that Elliot and Felix had built beneath the dining table, now home to a self-declared "dino princess tea party," complete with gummy bears in mismatched mugs. She was safe. Happy. Entertained. And surrounded.

Beth rose slowly from the couch where she'd been perched beside Alex, careful not to jostle the edge of the blanket they'd been sharing. Her gaze passed once over the room—making sure, always making sure—and then she slipped toward the front door.

She didn't say anything on her way out. Just nodded quietly to Elizabeth, caught Chan's brief glance of acknowledgment, and stepped into the hallway.

The contrast was immediate. Warm light gave way to muted golds, and the hush of the corridor felt like it had swallowed sound whole. She let the door close gently behind her, leaned back against the wall, and exhaled.

She stayed there for a moment, arms folded across her chest, head tipped back as she stared at the ceiling. Letting it all settle. The morning. The gifts. The way Cassie had looked at her like nothing in the world had ever gone wrong.

The sound of a door opening down the hall brought her eyes forward.

Changbin emerged from his apartment, just a few steps away. His hair was slightly tousled like he'd run a hand through it. He wore a soft, oversized sweatshirt and sweatpants, the kind of outfit that whispered comfort and calm. When he saw her, his brows lifted slightly, expression open but not intrusive.

Beth straightened, offering a small smile. "Hey."

He nodded, then hesitated like he wasn't sure whether to come closer.

"It's okay," she added, nodding toward the space beside her. "Just needed a second."

Changbin stepped closer and leaned against the wall beside her, arms loosely crossed over his chest. He didn't speak, just stood there—quiet and steady, like he always did.

For a few long breaths, they said nothing. The hallway hummed with distant music, the faint murmur of voices through the apartment walls, and the soft whir of heating vents.

Beth's gaze stayed soft on the far wall, unfocused, like she wasn't quite looking at anything at all.

Then, after a pause long enough to let her decide, she spoke.

"When Cassie was little," she said quietly, "Henry used to go all out for Christmas. I mean... really over the top."

Changbin shifted slightly, just enough to show he was listening.

"He'd track fake snow through the living room carpet—baking soda and glitter, I think. I'd find it in my socks for days afterward," she said with a soft huff of a laugh. "He used a rubber boot to leave prints by the fireplace. Ate the cookies we left out, drank half the milk just so it looked realistic. Wrote a note in this swirly handwriting like Santa had come down just for her."

She exhaled, slow and even, the corners of her mouth tugging upward in a way that was too tired to be a smile but too warm to be bitter.

"She was so little," Beth added. "Still in footie pajamas. Barely walking. But he did it anyway. Said he wanted magic to start early."

Silence followed—not awkward, not waiting to be filled. Just held. Like Changbin was giving the memory space to breathe.

Beth looked down at her hands, clasped loosely in front of her. "It wasn't always bad," she said. "You know? That's what makes it so damn hard sometimes. Because at the beginning... he was good. Or he tried to be. And I think I did too."

Changbin nodded once, slowly.

She turned to glance at him, brows drawing together, not quite teary but heavy in a way that didn't need water to drown. "I don't know how to explain it to Alex. Or to Cassie. Or to anyone really. That there was love, and then there wasn't. That it didn't disappear—it just... rotted from the inside out."

He didn't respond right away. Instead, he reached for his phone, thumb tapping carefully against the screen. When he turned it toward her, it read:

"You don't owe anyone the perfect version. Just the truth."

Beth swallowed around the knot in her throat.

He started typing again.

"If you need somewhere better. Quieter. Safer. You and Cassie can stay with me."

He hesitated before lifting his gaze, waiting for her reaction. His face stayed calm, open—no push, no expectation. Just the steady kind of offering that felt like it came with no expiration date.

Beth stared at the screen, then at him. "You sure?"

He nodded, then spoke aloud—carefully, but with confidence. "Guest room. Big. Warm. Yours."

Beth let out a slow breath, chest aching—not with sadness this time, but something like relief threatening to break her ribs.

"I don't want to be a burden."

Changbin didn't type this time. He just looked at her, steady and certain, and said, "You're not."

The words landed with unexpected force. She pressed a hand to her face, laughing softly, as if she were trying to hold something back that wasn't quite laughter.

"God," she whispered. "Why are you so—"

She didn't finish the sentence. Didn't need to.

Her voice caught on the edges of the question, and for a beat, neither of them moved. The hallway was still. So still it felt like she could hear the weight she was carrying finally shift—like it was unhooking itself one rusted clasp at a time.

Beth lowered her hand, eyes shining now in a way she couldn't hide. "I've been holding it together for so long," she said, voice soft and cracking. "For Cassie. For Alex. For court. For fucking everyone. I don't even remember the last time I let it out."

Changbin didn't flinch. Didn't try to soothe it away with platitudes or pat her on the back like it was something to dismiss. He just stayed exactly where he was—anchored beside her, like a tree in the storm she hadn't realized she was walking into until now.

She pressed her palms to her face again, shoulders beginning to tremble. "I don't know how we're going to afford another week in that hotel," she whispered. "I don't know how to tell my best friend that my marriage is over. I don't know what Cassie remembers or what she's burying or what I'm passing on without meaning to." Her voice broke. "I don't know what I'm doing."

The words spilled like a confession. Not to be fixed. Just to be heard.

And Changbin listened.

He moved slowly, carefully, and then—without speaking—reached out and wrapped his arms around her. Not tight, not overwhelming. Just enough. Just there.

Beth stood frozen for half a second before her body gave out into it. She sank against him, her hands gripping the front of his sweatshirt like it was the only thing tethering her. The tears came quietly, not dramatic, not gasping—just steady. Real. Raw.

His hand moved in slow, soothing circles along her back. No rush. No impatience. Just presence.

Beth didn't know how long she stayed there—five minutes, ten, maybe more. Long enough for her breath to steady, for her weight to settle again into something she could carry.

When she finally pulled back, her cheeks were damp, her eyes red, but the tightness in her chest had loosened. She looked up at him and saw no discomfort, no pity—just that same quiet steadiness.

She gave a shaky laugh and wiped under her eyes. "Sorry. That probably wasn't the Christmas vibe you were going for."

Changbin tilted his head and gave the smallest smile. "Best part," he said softly.

Beth huffed out another breath that was half laughter, half disbelief. "You're not real."

He raised an eyebrow. "Real," he said, tapping his own chest, then lightly bumping her shoulder with his.

She smiled for real then. Worn thin, yes—but clearer now. Like something in her had been rinsed clean by the weight of her own honesty.

"Okay," she said, voice low but sure. "We'll come stay. Just for a little while. Until I figure out what's next."

Changbin nodded like he'd already made room for them.