The Flower That Grew from Ashes novel Chapter 145

In December, Oslo was swallowed entirely by the polar night.

The sun became a stingy guest, showing its face on the horizon for barely six hours a day before hastily plunging back beneath the earth.

The entire city seemed to sink into a long, deep-blue slumber.

But Norwegians were unequivocally the best in the world at finding light within the darkness.

The streets were already blanketed in thick snow.

Yet, every single window in every single house reliably showcased a small, warm, illuminated Christmas candle.

Those tiny, fragile stars connected in the dark, forming a glowing river of warmth.

Annelise's flower shop was still undergoing its final interior touches.

But the massive front window had already been transformed into a miniature holiday floral exhibit.

She hadn't used any overly extravagant elements.

Just the most common, authentic markers of a Nordic winter.

A few sprawling branches of fir, clusters of plump, brilliant red winterberries, a shimmering silver ribbon, and a beeswax candle she had hand-poured herself, emitting a faint, sweet scent.

It was simple, clean, and radiating with festive warmth.

The day before Christmas Eve, Alyssa called and enthusiastically invited her over for the holidays.

"It's awful spending the holidays alone in a place this cold! Come to my house. My husband Olaf makes the absolute best roast ribs in all of Oslo!"

Annelise hesitated.

Her first instinct was to decline.

She wasn't used to inserting herself into other people's family gatherings.

The warmth and noise would act as a mirror, reflecting her own isolation and brokenness right back at her.

But in the end, she agreed.

She remembered the advice her language teacher, Marta, had given her.

"Norwegian winters are long and very dark. You need to find things that make you feel warm."

But she didn't leave a single bite on her plate.

She couldn't bear to disrespect Alyssa's incredible hospitality.

After dinner, the family gathered around the fireplace to open presents and play board games.

The living room was filled with the crackle of burning logs and the joyful, ringing laughter of a family.

Annelise sat on the sofa in the corner, holding a mug of mulled wine, quietly watching the scene unfold.

She felt like an outsider who had accidentally wandered into someone else's beautiful dream.

The dream was warm, and it was perfect.

But she knew it didn't belong to her.

At nine o'clock, Annelise got up to leave.

The whole family insisted on walking her to the door.

Just as she bent down to put on her shoes, she witnessed a scene that made her chest ache with a sudden, profound sourness.