Emily took the glass reindeer from Chantelle’s hands and checked its hoof. There was a little scratch mark that looked like it might have been a D for Donner, though it could just as easily have been a B for Blitzen. She smiled to herself.

“There’s a whole set in here,” Emily said, looking at the tangle of fairy lights. “Somewhere.”

They rummaged around until they’d found every single one of Santa’s reindeer, including Rudolph with his red nose painted on by Charlotte with nail polish. Emily felt a tug of emotion as she recalled that they’d never gotten around to buying the Santa and sleigh ornaments – the last on their list and the most expensive – because Charlotte had died before they’d saved up enough money.

“Look at this!” Chantelle cried, breaking into Emily’s thoughts by waving a grubby, felt polar bear in front of her face.

“Percy!” Emily cried, taking it from Chantelle’s hands. “Percy the polar bear!” She laughed to herself, delighted she could pluck such an obscure memory from her mind. She had lost so many of them, and yet she could retrieve them still. It gave her hope for unraveling the mysteries of her past.

She and Chantelle sorted through all the decorations, selecting all the ones they wanted to use and carefully putting away the others. By the time they were finished and ready to add them to the tree, it had grown dark outside.

Daniel lit a fire in the fireplace and its soft orange glow spilled out into the foyer as the family began decorating the tree. One by one, Chantelle carefully placed each of her selected decorations onto the tree, with the kind of precision and care Emily had grown to recognize in the child. It was like she was savoring every moment, carefully storing a new set of memories to replace the terrible ones from her younger years.

Finally it was time to put the angel on the top. Chantelle had spent a long time choosing which decoration would be given the prime position and had eventually chosen a fabric, hand-knitted angel over a robin, a star, and a fat, cuddly snowman.

“Are you ready?” Daniel asked Chantelle as he stood at the bottom of the stepladder. “I’m going to have to carry you up so you can reach the top.”

“I get to put the angel on the top?” Chantelle said, wide-eyed.

Emily laughed. “Of course! The youngest always gets to do it.”

She watched Chantelle clamber onto Daniel’s back, the angel clutched tightly in her hands so she wouldn’t drop it. Then slowly, one step at a time, Daniel carried her to the top. Together they stretched out and Chantelle popped the decoration onto the tall tip of the tree.

The second the angel sat atop the tree, Emily had a sudden flashback. It came on so quickly she began to breathe rapidly, panicked by the abrupt shift from her bright, warm inn to the colder, darker one of thirty years prior.

Emily was looking up at Charlotte as she placed the angel they’d spent all day making onto the tree. Her dad was holding Charlotte aloft, who at this point in time was a chubby toddler, and he wobbled slightly from the numerous sherries he’d drunk that day. Emily remembered a sudden, overwhelming emotion of fear. Fear that her tipsy father would drop Charlotte onto the hard hearth. Emily was five years old and it was the first time she’d really understood the concept of death.

Emily returned to the present day with a gasp to find her hand pressed against the wall as she steadied herself. She was hyperventilating and Daniel was there beside her, his hand on her back.

“Emily?” he asked with concern. “What happened? Another memory?”