November arrived, bringing cold temperatures that really got to Grey's leg and a gray sky that felt like it was pushing down on everything like a heavy blanket. The trees had lost most of their leaves, leaving just bare branches that looked like they'd been drawn with a fine pen on the dull sky.
Grey had gotten into a daily grind with Mara and Emma: morning chores, breakfast with them, fixing stuff around the house that Mara pointed out, lunch, then more work or hanging with Dr. Ortiz on her visit days, dinner, and then kicking back in his little room for some reading or sketching by the light of a single bulb. It wasn't a fancy life, but it was more than he'd had in ages, and he was starting to appreciate the small wins—like fixing a gate so it didn't squeak anymore, or the chickens coming running when he showed up with food, and Emma warming up to him and telling him all about her days like they were old pals.
The first snow came down on a Tuesday morning, the kind of flakes that looked like they were taking their sweet time but had a plan to stick around. Grey was by the kitchen window, watching the world turn into a postcard, feeling a bit tight in the chest. Back home, winter meant Christmas and family time, but in the desert it was just cold and lonely, counting down the days 'til he could go back, letters getting scarcer as people got busy with their own lives.
"Isn't it gorgeous?" Mara said, joining him by the window.
"Yeah," Grey said, even though he wasn't totally sure he meant it.
Then little Emma piped up from her chair. "Snow!" she squealed. "Can I go play in it, Mama?"
"After breakfast," Mara said. "But first, we've got to find your snow boots."
As the morning went on, the snow kept piling up, turning everything into a winter wonderland. By lunchtime, there was enough on the ground that Emma was about to burst with excitement. Mara dressed her up in what seemed like a million layers, and Grey chuckled watching her waddle out like a tiny penguin.
"You should come play in the snow, too," Mara suggested, tossing him a coat that had been her dad's.
The coat smelled like an old guy who liked to tinker and didn't care much for how he smelled, but it fit okay. So, Grey went outside with them.
Emma went right to work on a snow angel, flapping her arms and legs like a pro. Grey watched, remembering his own snow days as a kid in Pittsburgh, building forts and throwing snowballs.
"Your turn!" she said, all serious.
"I don't know if I'm cut out for snow angels anymore," Grey said.
"Nonsense," she said, like a mini boss. "Nobody's too old for snow angels."
So, Grey laid down in the cold snow, feeling it seep into his clothes. It was freezing, but Emma was so into it that he couldn't help but go along.
When he finally stood up and saw his snow angel, something hit him—joy, plain and simple.
"It's perfect," Emma said, clapping her hands in her mittens. "Now, we make a snowman!"
They spent the next hour building the snowman, which was a bit wobbly but had a carrot nose and all. Emma was the boss of it all, Mara helped with the details, and Grey was the heavy lifter.
That night, while he was in his room sketching the snowy fun they had, he realized something had changed that day. He hadn't thought about the desert or his buddy Rodriguez or how much everything hurt. He'd just been living in the moment, hanging with Mara and Emma. It wasn't like everything was okay, but it was like he'd found a way to deal with it, to live with the bad stuff and still find some happiness. It was like he'd accepted that life could be both terrible and wonderful, and that getting through it meant finding a way to live with both.