Chapter 28 - The Healing Ground
Winter arrived gently in Oxfordshire. December brought a soft, pristine dusting of snow that transformed our three acres of apple orchards into a quiet, magical wonderland.
With the legal battles permanently behind us, the real work of emotional healing accelerated. For years, I had carried an invisible tension in my shoulders—a constant, vigilant readiness for the next disaster. Now, for the first time in my adult life, that tension began to truly melt away.
Thomas spent his mornings in the woodshop behind the cottage, hand-carving new outdoor benches for the garden, while Miles and I spent hours in the kitchen preparing for the holidays.
"Mommy, look! It's a snow apple!" Miles shouted one afternoon, running in through the back mudroom door, holding a frozen, late-season apple he had picked from a low branch. His cheeks were bright pink, his brown eyes dancing with lively health.
"It's beautiful, baby," I smiled, taking off his wet coat and kneeling down to warm his small hands between mine.
Thomas walked in, carrying a armful of freshly split cedar wood for the fireplace. He stacked the wood by the hearth, wiped his snow-dusted hands, and knelt down next to us, wrapping his broad arms around both Miles and me.
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"Everything warm in here?" Thomas asked, his cheek resting against mine, his breath warm against the crisp winter air lingering on my skin.
"Perfectly warm," I whispered, resting my head against his chest, listening to the calm, steady rhythm of his heart.
