Chapter 4 - The Ghost of Christmas Past
At 4:00 a.m., the snowfall slowed to a gentle drift outside the estate windows. Gideon stood in the quiet nursery on the third floor—a room that had remained locked and untouched for three long years.
Soft pastel paint covered the walls. A hand-carved wooden crib stood in the corner, and shelves were lined with picture books and stuffed animals that belonged to his late daughter, Hannah. For three years, Gideon had refused to set foot inside this room, unable to face the suffocating weight of his grief.
Tonight, he pushed the door open.
He carried a thick, warm blanket and set it over the small bed in the corner, where he had laid Norah down to sleep an hour earlier. She had looked so small in the giant master guest suite that he had brought her here, where the room felt safe, warm, and built for a child.
Norah stirred in her sleep, opening her eyes slightly as she saw Gideon standing by the bed.
"Mr. Gideon?" she murmured softly.
"Go back to sleep, little one," he whispered, sitting on the edge of the mattress.
"Is this your house?" she asked, looking around at the pastel walls. "It smells like sweet lavender."
Gideon looked at a framed photo on the nightstand—a picture of a laughing five-year-old girl with dark curls. "It belonged to my daughter, Hannah," he said quietly. "She went to heaven a long time ago."
Norah sat up slightly, her small hand reaching out to touch Gideon’s large, scarred wrist. "Are you sad because you miss her?"
Gideon looked into Norah’s bright, innocent eyes, feeling a lump form in his throat—a feeling he hadn't experienced in years. "Every single day," he admitted softly.
"My mama said that when people we love go far away, they become stars," Norah said with absolute conviction. "She said if we get scared, we just look out the window and they shine real bright to tell us we're not alone."
Gideon leaned down, gently placing his hand over hers. "Your mama is a very wise woman, Norah."
"Will you protect her, Mr. Gideon?" Norah asked, her eyes shining with hope. "Like a superhero?"
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Gideon looked at the photograph of his lost daughter, then back at the living, breathing child sitting before him. The grief that had consumed him for three years crystallized into an unshakeable, burning purpose.
"I will protect her with my life," Gideon promised, his voice an absolute oath. "No one will ever hurt you or your mother again."
