The first snow came heavy that year—thick flakes that clung to pine needles and softened even the gravel roads that usually rattled under old tires and rusted trucks. Ellie watched it fall from the window of Dylan's childhood bedroom, a mug of cocoa clutched tight in her hands.
It was Christmas Eve. Her first one.
She'd never been allowed to celebrate before—no tree, no stockings, no glittering lights. Jehovah's Witnesses saw it as pagan, worldly, selfish. For years, December 25th passed like any other day—quiet, routine, cold.
But this year, the house smelled like cinnamon and roasted ham. There were blinking lights tangled on the front porch. A crooked tree leaned in the living room, ornaments uneven and lights flickering like a dying heartbeat. Four screaming kids ran in circles chasing wrapping paper and candy canes. And beneath it all, Ellie's heart beat out a strange rhythm: part wonder, part fear, part ache.
Dylan was coming home tonight.
He'd been gone four weeks—another job downstate, laying brick for a new shopping complex, making more money than he ever had before. He promised this one was worth it. Promised her something special. Promised he'd be home in time.
And he was.
The Jeep pulled up just after sunset, headlights cutting through the snowflakes, engine growling like a familiar animal. Ellie was out the door before he even shut it off, coat forgotten, feet bare in the slush.
"Jesus, El," Dylan laughed, catching her in midair as she flung herself at him. "You're gonna freeze your toes off."
She didn't care. She buried her face in his neck, breathing in the familiar scent of motor oil and pine soap.
"You're really here," she whispered.
"Wouldn't miss it."
Later, the house was noisy with wrapping paper and shrieking cousins, but Ellie stayed close to Dylan's side. He handed out gifts like a man possessed—watches for his nephews, a new jacket for Anna, bath salts for Melanie.
And for Ellie…
It felt like magic.
He led her back to the bedroom, closed the door, and handed her a heavy box wrapped in silver paper. She peeled it open slowly, hands shaking.
Inside was a deep burgundy coat lined with faux fur and a soft matching scarf. Underneath, a small velvet pouch holding a delicate gold bracelet.
Ellie's breath caught. "Dylan…"
He leaned in close. "You deserve nice things."
"I didn't need—"
"I wanted to," he interrupted. "I wanted to see you wear something that makes you feel expensive. Worthy. Like you belong in every room you walk into."
She looked up at him, blinking through tears. "You didn't have to make this day mean something."
He cupped her jaw gently. "You made it mean something when you said yes."
They kissed slow and soft at first, her fingers curled around the velvet ribbon still in her hand. But he didn't stop at gentle. His touch turned hot—urgent. As if the weeks apart had carved him hollow.
He kicked the bedroom door shut.
The bed creaked under their weight.
His fingers tangled in her hair as his mouth found hers again—rougher this time, his breath ragged, his hands not asking but taking. She gasped as he pinned her to the mattress, lips moving down her throat, teeth grazing skin like he was marking every place he missed.
"You think I didn't picture this every night?" he growled against her skin. "You, here, wrapped in ribbon. Mine."
She shivered, nails digging into his shoulder.
He didn't stop—didn't pause. He undressed her like he owned every button, every seam. Like she'd been gift-wrapped just for him.
And when he took her, it wasn't gentle. It was need. Fury. Devotion. All wrapped up in skin and sweat and whispered promises in the dark.
"You're not allowed to leave me," she murmured, breathless.
"Never," he growled. "You're mine, Ellie. I don't care what they say. I'll build a damn kingdom around you if that's what it takes."
Afterward, they lay tangled in the dark, her head on his chest, their breaths slowing. She traced lazy circles on his ribs while snow tapped the window like soft fingers.
He shifted and reached under the bed.
"Almost forgot," he said, pulling out another box—this one smaller, wrapped in black paper and tied with a leather cord.
Ellie sat up, curious. "Dylan…"
"Just open it."
Inside was a pair of leather boots—dark, soft, clearly expensive.
Her mouth fell open. "Are you serious?"
He shrugged, suddenly shy. "Your shoes are trash, babe. You run through life barefoot and stubborn. Thought you deserved something that could keep up."
She stared at them, speechless. "These are beautiful. They're… too much."
"Nothing's too much for you."
A knock at the door broke the spell.
"Dinner," Anna called.
Ellie nodded and reached for her robe, still overwhelmed.
But as they stepped out into the hallway, she caught it—Melanie's voice, low but not quiet enough.
"Of course he's spending money on her like that. Poor boy's thinking with the wrong head again."
The words hit like ice water.
Ellie froze.
Dylan did, too.
He turned sharply, jaw clenching, but Ellie touched his arm. "Don't."
"She thinks I'm stupid," he muttered under his breath.
"She thinks I'm temporary," Ellie said, voice low and cold. "Let her."
They walked into the dining room hand in hand.
Melanie looked up, fake smile painted on.
Ellie smiled back—tight, poised, unshaken.
And sat down beside Dylan like a queen at the table of those who doubted her.
That night, she stared at the ceiling, Dylan's arm slung over her waist.
"You okay?" he asked, groggy.
She nodded.
But inside, something had shifted.
It didn't matter if they understood.
She didn't need permission.
Because in this house of chaos and whispers, she had already unwrapped the only gift she truly wanted:
Her voice.
And the man who never once asked her to silence it.