EPILOGUE
ITWAS CHRISTMAS, their favorite time of year. Snow fell outside, and everybody was tucked up in their little beds, beneath handmade quilts. The fire was going, and he knew from experience that smoke from the small stovepipe chimney was pouring into the frigid air.
The cabin was their Christmas tradition.
And they all loved it. Including the kids.
It was smaller than their other homes throughout the world, but it would always be the most special home. The most real.
He and Olive did not work so much these days. Delegating various tasks to other people of the company. What Olive had decided to do was not start a company at all. She had started writing children’s books. Her particular brand of ridiculous humor in banter creating a series of exceedingly popular works. About a young girl who had to spend her days in office buildings while her dad had meetings, and the different shenanigans she got up to.
But he would’ve loved her whatever she did, because she was his.
Because she had given him his home back.
He looked at the Christmas tree in the corner, and the sleeping children in their beds.
She had given him his heart back.
*****