Chapter 67 Thanksgiving
After the ceremony, they walked through the center. Bright classrooms, a community kitchen, computer labs, childcare facilities.
“It’s really beautiful,” Ariella said.
“You sound surprised.”
“I am. I thought it would feel sad. Like a tomb. But it feels alive.”
“That was the goal.”
They found Patricia Moreno in the job training center, talking to an instructor.
“Mrs. Moreno,” Ariella said. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”
“I volunteer here twice a week. Teaching basic accounting.” Patricia smiled. “My son wanted to be an accountant. This feels like…I don’t know. Continuing his work.”
“That’s beautiful.”
“It’s something. And something is better than drowning in nothing.” She squeezed Ariella’s hand. “You both did good. Really good.”
After everyone left, Ariella and Aiden sat in the empty community room.
“Two years ago, we were strangers signing a contract,” Ariella said.
“Desperate strangers.”
“Very desperate. And now we’re…what? Married college students who built a community center?”
“And have an orange couch.”
“Coral.”
“You’re learning.”
She laughed. “Is this what healing looks like? Building things? Moving forward?”
“I think so. Or maybe healing looks different for everyone and this just happens to be ours.”
“I miss them,” Ariella said quietly. “Ethan. Your mom. Even your dad, sometimes. As complicated as he was.”
“Me too.”
“Does it get easier?”
“I don’t know. Different, maybe. Less sharp. More like they’re part of the landscape now instead of the whole sky.”
“That’s poetic.”
“I’m an architecture student. We’re all secretly poets.”
She kissed him. “I’m glad we did this. The center. The memorial. All of it.”
“Me too.”
Thanksgiving arrived with the first snow.
They hosted at their apartment, impossibly crowded with Claire, Lily, Marcus, Sophie, and Sophie’s new girlfriend. Seven people crammed around their thrift store table, eating food Ariella and Claire had made, laughing about nothing important.
“This is nice,” Lily said. “Weird, but nice.”
“What’s weird about it?” Aiden asked.
“We’re having Thanksgiving in a tiny apartment with mismatched chairs and an orange couch and everyone’s actually happy. A year ago we were in lockdown waiting for a trial. Two years ago we were strangers. And now we’re…” She gestured around. “This.”
“Family,” Claire said simply.
“Yeah. That.”
They went around the table sharing gratitudes. Claire was grateful for her daughter’s strength. Lily for finally having friends who didn’t know about the trial. Marcus for seeing them all survive. Sophie for Ariella finding happiness. Sophie’s girlfriend meeting them for the first time, for being included in something that clearly meant a lot.
When it was Aiden’s turn, he looked at Ariella.
“I’m grateful for the worst contract I ever signed. And the best choice I ever made.”
“Same,” Ariella said. “To both.”
After dinner, while everyone was cleaning up, Sophie pulled Ariella aside.
“You seem different. Good different.”
“How so?”
“Lighter. Like you’re not carrying the whole world anymore.”
“Therapy helps. So does not being hunted by a murderous billionaire.”
“That would do it.” Sophie hugged her. “I’m really happy for you, Ari. You deserve this.”
“Thanks. I’m happy for you too. Your girlfriend seems great.”
“She is. And she has no idea about any of the drama. I’m just Sophie to her. Not Sophie whose best friend survived a murder trial.”
“Is that nice? Being just Sophie?”
“It’s amazing. You should try it sometime.”
Ariella thought about that. She was still Ariella Hayes-Frost, the girl who’d married a billionaire at seventeen. The internet still had articles about her. People still occasionally recognized her.
But mostly, day to day, she was just Ari. Culinary student. Aiden’s wife. Claire’s daughter. A person building a quiet life from loud beginnings.
“I think I am trying it,” she said. “Just being me.”
“Good. You’re pretty great when you’re just you.”
In December, finals hit both of them hard.
Ariella had practical exams, creating complex dishes under time pressure. Aiden had design projects due. They barely saw each other for two weeks, both buried in work.
But they’d leave notes. Small things tucked into textbooks or stuck to the bathroom mirror.
They got through it together, the way they got through everything.
Finals ended. Christmas approached. Aiden asked what she wanted.
“Nothing,” Ariella said. “I have everything.”
“That’s a cop-out answer.”
“Okay, fine. I want one day where we do absolutely nothing. No school, no family obligations, no commemorations or ceremonies. Just nothing.”
“I can do that.”
Christmas morning, they stayed in bed until noon. No gifts, no plans, no expectations. Just coffee and each other and the snow falling outside their window.
“This is perfect,” Ariella said.
“This is boring.”
“Boring is underrated.”
“Boring is everything.”
They spent the day reading, napping, making simple food. No drama. No crisis. Just existing in the space they’d built.
In the evening, Aiden said: “I’ve been thinking.”
“Dangerous.”
“About the future. About what comes after school.”
“We have three more years of school.”
“I know. But after that. What do you want?”
Ariella thought about it. “I want to open my own bakery. Not take over my mom’s, let that be hers. But something new, Mine. Maybe with a culinary school component. Teaching people who can’t afford formal training.”
“Like a community center but for baking.”
“Exactly like that.”
“I love it.” He paused. “I want to design community spaces. Affordable housing, public buildings, things that actually help people instead of just looking impressive.”
“You want to be the anti-Frost Industries.”
“I want to be me. Which happens to mean building things my father never would have.”
“I think he’d be proud anyway. In his own complicated way.”
“Maybe.”
They were quiet for a moment.
Then Aiden said: “What about kids? Someday?”
Ariella’s heart skipped. “You want kids?”
“Not now. God, not now. We’re barely adults ourselves. But someday? Maybe?”
“I think…yeah. Someday. When we’re ready. When we’re stable.”
“When we’re boring?”
“When we’re boring,” she agreed.
“I can’t wait to be boring with you.”
“We’re already boring with each other.”
“Then I can’t wait for more boring.”
They fell asleep tangled together, dreaming of boring futures. Of quiet years building quiet things. Of being people who survived trauma but weren’t defined by it.