The morning light filtered through my window, casting soft golden streaks across my room. The fresh layer of snow outside reflected the pale glow of the winter sun, making everything look soft and peaceful. The warmth of my blanket was comforting, and for the first time in a long time, I wasn't in a rush to get out of bed.

The house was unusually quiet, the usual morning chaos of Lily and Sam's chatter dulled, maybe out of consideration for me. After everything that happened yesterday, I wasn't quite ready to face the world again. The weight of emotions from the adoption, the excitement, the tears, the joy—it was all still settling inside me, like the snow outside, quiet but heavy.

A soft knock at my door pulled me from my thoughts. "Emily?" Mrs.—no, Mom—poked her head in, her smile warm and inviting. "Breakfast is ready. Come eat before it gets cold."

Her voice was gentle, not pressing or rushing me, just there, like an open invitation.

I sat up, stretching, feeling the stiffness of sleep still clinging to my limbs. "Okay, I'll be down in a minute."

She nodded before closing the door, leaving me alone with my thoughts again. I glanced around my room—the room that was now fully mine, not just a temporary place to stay, but home. My eyes lingered on the gender-fluid pride flag pinned to the wall, a quiet but bold reminder that I was finally somewhere I could be myself.

I took a deep breath, the word forming in my mind again. Mom. It still felt new, unfamiliar on my tongue, but not in a bad way. It was strange in the way that trying something new was strange—like wearing a new pair of shoes, slightly stiff but already molding to fit.

For a moment, I sat there, wrapping my blanket around my shoulders like a cocoon, letting it all sink in. The house smelled like cinnamon and coffee, the comforting scent weaving through the air like a gentle nudge, reminding me I wasn't alone.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, planting my feet on the warm rug beneath me. Today was a new day, the first of many as an official part of this family. And for once, I wasn't afraid of what came next.

Downstairs, the comforting scent of cinnamon and butter wrapped around me like a hug. It was the kind of smell that made a house feel like home—warm, sweet, and familiar. As I stepped into the kitchen, the morning light streamed through the windows, glinting off the snow outside. Everything felt calm, peaceful, like the world had taken a deep breath after the whirlwind of yesterday.

Lily was already at the table, her tiny hands gripping a fork as she worked through a towering stack of French toast. A drizzle of syrup clung to her chin, and powdered sugar dusted the plate in front of her like fresh snow. "Morning, Emily Blake," she chirped between bites, her voice muffled by the thick slice she had stuffed into her mouth.

I paused, my heart skipping slightly at the sound of my new last name. It was still sinking in, still settling into place in my mind.

I raised an eyebrow, smirking as I slid into my seat. "You're not going to say that every day now, are you?"

Lily grinned mischievously, her brown eyes twinkling with mischief. "No promises."

Sam sat across from her, his posture slouched, a mug of steaming tea cupped in his hands. He looked half-awake, his hair still sticking up from sleep, his eyes droopy as he lazily stirred his drink. "You're way too loud this early," he muttered at Lily, earning an exaggerated gasp from her.

"It's morning," she declared, sitting up straighter. "You should be grateful I'm greeting you at all."

Sam groaned but didn't argue, instead taking a slow sip of his tea.

At the head of the table, dad sat, dressed in his usual work clothes, reading the newspaper like something out of an old movie. His presence was quiet, steady, a constant in the room that made everything feel normal, like this was just another morning in a long line of mornings I would get to share with them.

Mom sat down across from me, handing me a plate of golden French toast, still warm from the skillet. "I thought we could have a quiet day today," she said, her voice gentle. "Just spend some time together."

I nodded, appreciating the idea more than I could say. After all the legal stuff, the emotional whirlwind of adoption day, and everything else I had been through, a slow day sounded perfect.

"Like, movie day?" Lily perked up at the idea, already reaching for another piece of toast. "Can we watch something fun?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "She means cartoons."

"Cartoons are fun!" Lily shot back, waving her fork for emphasis.

Mom chuckled, shaking her head. "We can decide together. But yes, I was thinking movies, maybe some games, just a day to breathe."

I took a bite of my French toast, the taste rich and sweet with a hint of nutmeg. It was the kind of breakfast that made everything feel okay, even when my emotions were still catching up to reality.

"Yeah," I said softly. "That sounds nice."

And for the first time in what felt like forever, I truly believed it.

The moment we stepped outside, the crisp winter air nipped at my cheeks, but the sky was a dazzling blue, the kind that made the whole world feel fresh and new. Snow glittered across the yard in untouched layers, except for the tiny footprints of birds and the winding trails left behind by squirrels. A pair of them—one chubby and gray, the other smaller with a bushy tail twice its size—scampered across the wooden fence, chittering at each other as they leaped from branch to branch. They paused briefly to inspect us, their little noses twitching, before dashing away in a flurry of snow dust.

Lily, of course, didn't notice them. She was too focused on the task at hand.

"Come on, Emily! We need to rebuild the snow castle!" Lily tugged at my sleeve with the force of someone on a life-or-death mission.

I chuckled, watching the determination in her bright eyes. "You still want to fix that thing?"

"Yes! The last snowstorm destroyed half of it. We have to make it stronger."

I sighed playfully but pulled on my coat and boots anyway. "Alright, alright. Let's do this."

The moment my feet crunched into the snow, I felt a thrill run through me. There was something magical about fresh snow—the way it sparkled in the sunlight, the way it softened every sound like a cozy winter blanket. Lily had already dashed ahead, crouching in front of the remains of her "castle," scooping up snow with gloved hands like a tiny architect ready to rebuild her masterpiece.

For a moment, I just watched her—how her dark curls bounced as she moved, how her breath puffed out in little clouds, how her cheeks had already turned pink from the cold.

I'd never had a little sister before. The idea of it still felt new, but good.

Growing up, I had always been alone. No one to chase in the yard, no one to share inside jokes with, no one to build ridiculous snow castles that would probably collapse by tomorrow. But now, I had her.

Lily.

Loud, playful, sometimes a little bossy—but mine, in a way I never thought I'd have.

Smiling, I knelt down beside her. "Alright, let's build the strongest snow castle ever."

Lily's face lit up. "Yes! And this time, it's going to have towers."

I scooped up a handful of snow and started packing it together, feeling the cold seep through my gloves. "Towers, huh? That's pretty ambitious."

She nodded vigorously. "And a moat! And maybe a squirrel guard!"

At the mention of squirrels, I glanced up just in time to see the chubby gray one dart across the yard and leap onto the fence again. It paused there, looking down at us with an almost judgmental stare, like it was silently critiquing our architectural skills. I smirked. "I don't think the squirrels want to be guards."

Lily gasped dramatically. "Then they're enemies! We have to defend the castle!"

I barely had time to react before she scooped up a handful of snow and flung it in my direction. I yelped as it smacked against my shoulder, sending a spray of icy flakes down my coat.

"Oh, it's on," I said, grabbing my own handful of snow.

Just as I was about to retaliate, Sam stepped outside, his arms crossed. He scanned our work like a serious construction supervisor inspecting a job site. "Structurally speaking," he said in a very serious tone, "this is still very unstable."

Lily narrowed her eyes at him. "Structurally speaking, you talk too much."

And with that, she launched a snowball directly at his chest.

Sam let out an exaggerated gasp, stumbling back like he'd been mortally wounded. "Betrayal!" he declared dramatically.

Before I knew it, a full-on snowball fight had erupted. Lily was fast, ducking and weaving as she hurled snow with wild accuracy. Sam had better aim, nailing me right in the shoulder with a perfectly packed snowball. I scooped up a handful and flung it back at him, laughing when it smacked into his hat and sent snow flying into his hair.

The squirrels, seemingly unbothered by the chaos, continued their business, chasing each other across the trees, pausing only to shake their tails and scold us from the branches above.

At one point, Sam tried to recruit them to his team. "Squirrels, hear my call! Aid me in battle!" he declared, raising his arms toward the trees.

One of the squirrels chittered loudly, then promptly threw a tiny chunk of bark at him.

Lily burst into laughter. "Even the squirrels are against you!"

Mom watched from the porch, sipping a cup of hot tea. Her scarf was wrapped snugly around her neck, and her blue eyes sparkled with warmth as she took in the sight of us playing together. She didn't say anything, but her smile said enough.

It was a smile that made me feel safe. A smile that made me feel like I had always been meant to be here.

And as the snow continued to fall around us, laughter filling the air, I knew that this—right here, right now—was what family was supposed to feel like.

By the time we got back inside, our faces were red from the cold, our boots leaving behind trails of slush on the entryway rug. My fingers felt stiff from packing so many snowballs, but the moment I stepped into the warmth of the house, a deep, pleasant exhaustion settled over me. The smell of hot cocoa filled the air, rich and inviting, and Mom already had steaming mugs waiting for us on the kitchen counter.

I wrapped my hands around my mug, letting the warmth seep into my frozen fingers. The first sip was heaven—sweet, creamy, with just the right hint of cinnamon. Lily cupped hers with both hands, taking exaggerated gulps while Sam carefully stirred his with a spoon, watching the marshmallows swirl.

"Ahhh, this is the best," Lily sighed dramatically, leaning against my shoulder with a happy grin. "This is exactly what a snow queen like me needs after a long day defending her castle."

Sam snorted. "You were the one who surrendered first."

Lily huffed. "I was being strategic."

Mom chuckled, carrying her own mug to the living room. "Sounds like a successful day," she said as she sank into the chair beside me, tucking her feet under a warm knitted blanket.

A few moments later, Dad finally emerged from his office, stretching his arms as he walked into the room. He was still in his work clothes, but his expression was lighter than usual, like he was finally able to step away from all the stress. He glanced at the pile of boots by the door and the damp coats hanging over the heater before looking at the three of us, bundled up in blankets with cocoa in our hands.

"You kids had fun?" he asked, running a hand through his dark hair as he sat down on the couch across from us.

"Yep!" Lily beamed, wiggling her toes under the blanket. "Emily helped rebuild the castle!"

"She did?" He raised an eyebrow at me, clearly impressed.

I shrugged, smirking as I blew the steam off my cocoa. "It needed a lot of repairs."

"She was a good soldier," Lily added with a firm nod. "We wouldn't have finished without her."

"Well," Dad said, taking a sip from his own mug, "I hope you reinforced it this time. No more collapses, I assume?"

I smirked at Sam, who hid his face behind his mug. "We made it stronger," I assured him, "but I wouldn't test sitting on it again."

Mom shook her head with amusement, adjusting the blanket over her lap. The fire crackled softly in the background, casting a warm, flickering glow across the living room. It was the kind of cozy that made you never want to move, that wrapped around you like a hug.