VANILLA, BABY • KENICKIE

EIGHTEEN

EIGHTEEN - Merry Christmas & A Happy New Year

Christmas morning was quiet, the snow outside falling in soft sheets, muffling the world. Ducky padded down the hall in her robe, still half-asleep, when she nearly tripped over the small box resting neatly at the front door.

She bent down, frowning, and saw her name scrawled in familiar messy handwriting: Dulcibella.

Her breath hitched. She didn't even need to open it.

Still, her fingers trembled as she tore back the paper. Inside was a velvet box, and nestled in its center lay a delicate silver necklace, a small charm shaped like a star catching the light. There was a note folded beneath it, just three words:

Merry Christmas, Dulcibella.

Her chest ached. He must have worked for weeks, overtime, odd jobs, scraping every penny just to put this in her hands. Kenickie had never been a man of many words, but this was his heart.

She pressed the necklace to her lips before hiding it away in her drawer. No one needed to see. Not yet.

Dinner that night was louder than expected. Frenchy had bounced through the front door, hair now back to her natural shade.

Turkey was carved, laughter filled the table, and for the first time in months, the air didn't feel thick with secrets.

After dessert, Ducky slipped away and returned with a small, poorly wrapped box. She set it in front of her father, cheeks warm. "For you. Consider it a peace offering."

He opened it slowly, silence stretching until he lifted out a pair of soft wool slippers. His eyes glistened.

"Dulcibella..." His voice cracked. "Thank you."

Before he could say more, Frenchy jumped in with a grin, shoving another box across the table. "Mine too! Open it!"

Inside, a set of matching pyjamas, ridiculous plaid, far too bright.

Lorenzo let out a laugh that filled the house, real and unguarded, before pulling both his daughters into a rare, tight hug. "My girls," he whispered.

And for the first time in a long while, Ducky believed him.

On New Years Ever, the house smelled of mulled cider and roasted ham, the quiet hum of the radio carrying soft carols into the kitchen. Ducky leaned against the counter, fingers tracing the rim of her glass of ginger ale, when she heard her father clear his throat behind her.

"Dulcibella," he said, voice steady but softer than usual.

She turned, unsure of what mood he carried tonight. He held himself straighter than normal, but his eyes weren't hard.

"I've been thinkin'," he began, pouring himself a measure of whiskey, the amber liquid catching the glow of the Christmas lights. "About you. About Kenickie."

Her heart stuttered. "Daddy-"

He held up a hand. "Let me finish." He swirled the drink once, then set it down untouched. "I can't keep you a little girl forever. You're eighteen now. A woman. And if that boy's who you want..." He clenched his jaw but forced the words out, "...then I won't stand in your way."