As we set off down the snowy path toward town, Oxford walking beside me with stately grace, I feel something unfamiliar bubbling up inside me. It takes me a moment to recognize it.
It’s freedom.
For the first time in longer than I can remember, I’m not worried about disappointing anyone, not anxious about missed calls or urgent emails. I’m just walking through the snow with a llama, heading to a bakery in a small town where I have no obligations, no expectations to meet.
And it feels incredible.
16
Oxford
Iwalk beside Melody and feel a most peculiar sensation in my chest. It’s light, almost buoyant, quite different from my usual state of existence. The humans would call this happiness. A crude word for such a complex emotion, but accurate nonetheless.
Last night transformed something within me.
The plush bed she provided sits in stark contrast to the hay pile in Everett’s barn. While I would never admit it aloud (if I were inclined to speak their language), the softness cradling me was nothing short of euphoric. I slept more soundly than I have since before Granny’s departure.
And then this morning: strawberries and bananas! Such exotic delicacies. Melody had presented them, watching anxiously as I investigated these new offerings. The strawberries burst with a sweetness I’d never experienced, and the bananasoffered a curious texture that initially perplexed my palate but quickly became most agreeable.
“Do you like them?” she had asked, her vanilla scent warming with pleasure when I accepted a second piece from her palm.
In my seven years, no human has ever offered me such variety. Dr. Hersey provided nutritional pellets, and Granny occasionally supplemented my hay with apples. But these tropical indulgences? Never.
Perhaps there is more to this life than I initially hypothesized.
More to Melody than I first diagnosed.
I observe her now as we walk toward town. Her posture has changed—shoulders back, chin lifted. The classic physical manifestation of growing confidence. Her interaction with her aunt demonstrated remarkable progress in boundary-setting, a notoriously difficult skill for those with people-pleasing tendencies.
I am, professionally speaking, quite proud of her progress.
Dr. Hersey would classify this as a breakthrough moment in therapy. The patient demonstrates autonomous decision-making after a pattern of codependency. Textbook, really.
But what would she say about me? About the way my chest feels oddly warm when she smiles? About how I’ve begun to anticipate our walks together rather than merely tolerating them?
I had positioned myself as the therapeutic observer, the silent analyst. Yet here I am, experiencing emotional growth through our interactions. My worldview expands through strawberries and comfortable bedding.
Could it be that Melody is teaching me as much as I’m teaching her?
We pass the town sign, and several residents wave at us. One small child points excitedly.
“Look! A llama wearing a scarf!”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Yes, child. A llama. With a scarf. How perceptive of you.
The mother smiles indulgently. “What a handsome fellow! A Christmas llama!”
Melody laughs. “He is a Christmas llama. The scarf makes it official.”
I have been called many things—stubborn beast, Oxford the Magnificent—but “Christmas llama” has a certain dignified festivity to it that I find unexpectedly appealing.
I lift my head slightly higher.
17
Finn
There’s something profoundly poetic about watching my boyfriend’s muscles ripple beneath his flannel shirt as he swings an axe. It’s like witnessing a Renaissance sculpture come to life—if Michelangelo had sculpted lumberjacks instead of biblical figures. I adjust my position on my stump and take another sip from my thermos.