II.

That Christmas would be painful, he sensed it and then confirmed it when the day came.

He didn't know how to handle the situation. What did he say to an orphaned mother child? Did he wish "Merry Christmas" even though the boy had seen his mother die slowly? Was he giving him a gift and hoping he would forget the memory of the woman who loved him and took care of him until the last of his days?

He hated these holidays. Everyone seemed happy, everything shone, but he was a gray widower with a child who understood little and at the same time understood too much. He wanted to sleep and wake up in the new year, with all these silly parties already far from him and his child.

Many asked him how he was, with whom he would spend Christmas, what Timothy was doing. He answered with a smile and changed the subject. He knew they felt sorry.

Only one person asked with genuine interest. And besides, she caressed his soul ensuring that everything would be fine.

When Patrick went home with his son he looked at him, and knew she was right. Tim was much stronger than he thought, and he would grow up and be a teenager and then be a man. He had to stay whole so that his son had an example, he had, like Tim, to be resilient.

Sister Bernadette was too, apparently. He was surprised when she told her experience. She was worried but he felt her urgency to provide help, and at the same time the joy of being able to share something. He saw it on her face, with a very small smile, and her voice that did not denote the moral superiority of a nun, but the concern and advice of a friend.

He regretted that Trixie interrupted, rambled on how the conversation would have continued. Maybe some questions about she had more family besides her father, if he later married, or died too... He knew she was Scottish but that was all. A little more information would help him compare with his current situation and thus know what scenarios he should face for the sake of his son.

Definitely, he should talk more with her. He did not know how to return to that conversation, after all she was a nun and surely there were certain forbidden topics to talk, even more with lay people. But he was not seeing her as a nun, but as someone to ask for help, advice. She could help him, he was sure.

He arrived almost late to see his son playing the violin, but he succeeded and saw his son's little mischievous smile. Patrick Turner knew that he finally did something as a father, beyond giving him home, education and food.

His chest was full of joy for his little one. Christmas was as painful as he expected, but they were also making some happy memories.

As a proud father he looked at those around with a satisfied smile. He wanted to stand up and shout "Look, that's my boy!" but he knew that his son would not appreciate it.

His eyes met the row of nuns who enthusiastically applauded the small actors. He did not know that they could be there, he imagined that Christmas was lived in a convent according to strict rules that did not include representations of children in disguise. One of them looked at his son and then looked at him. She made a small nod and he replied with another. Her eyes were so blue and expressive that she didn't need to speak so he knew they would be fine. She talked to God, she sure knew that information.

He laughed at his nonsense and saw his son approaching to give him a hug.

"You arrived on time!"

When he left the parish hall with Tim chattering about the behind the scenes, he saw Sister Bernadette standing near the door. She looked at her son and made another nod, this time she gave a bright smile.

They would be fine.