PART 7
The holiday season approached with a gentle,
festive energy,
and this year I decided to host Thanksgiving at the yellow house,
inviting a small group of close friends and my mother.
My mother arrived a week early,
her bad knee acting up from the cold travel,
but her spirit as stubborn and resilient as it had always been.
She walked through my home with a critical,
loving eye,
running her hand over the sturdy oak dining table,
and nodding in approval at the well-stocked pantry.
She told me she was proud of the life I had built,
and that my grandmother would have been fiercely proud as well.
On Thanksgiving morning,
the kitchen was a chaotic symphony of smells,
roasting turkey,
cinnamon,
and bubbling cranberry sauce.
Sabina helped my mother make the stuffing,
her small hands covered in flour and breadcrumbs,
while I managed the complicated timing of the oven.
There was no pressure to impress anyone,
no anxiety about using the wrong fork,
and no fear of a sudden,
passive-aggressive comment ruining the meal.
Our friends arrived with bottles of wine and loud laughter,
filling the small dining room with a genuine,
uncomplicated warmth,
that made the walls of the house seem to glow from within.
We ate until we were entirely full,
sharing stories and making toasts to health,
independence,
and the beautiful clarity of starting over.
As the evening wound down and the guests moved to the living room,
I stood at the kitchen sink washing the heavy pots,
looking out the window at the dark,
frosty street.
I thought about the disastrous Thanksgiving years ago at the mansion,
where Beatrix had criticized my choice of centerpieces,
and Thatcher had ignored me to entertain his business contacts.
I had spent that entire night hiding in the pantry,
crying silent tears and wondering how I could endure fifty more years of it.
The contrast between that nightmare and this peaceful,
joyous reality,
was so profound it almost took my breath away.
I dried my hands on a towel and walked back into the living room,
where Sabina was asleep on my mother's lap,
and my friends were playing a board game on the rug.
I sat down in the old armchair by the fireplace,
feeling the heat of the flames on my face,
and realized that I had finally achieved the one thing I always wanted.
I was safe.
My daughter was safe.
May you like
And the empire that protected us was built entirely on my own name,
a fortress of truth that no one could ever take away.
