Tia began to feel lighter and lighter as she drew closer to Silver Springs. As negative as her conversation had been with her mother, she’d spoken to Seth right after, and that had been much more enjoyable. She’d also conquered her fear and allowed her picture to be taken for the world to see, and now that hurdle was behind her. It felt as if a huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She had no idea how the public would respond. She couldn’t even say if Miguel had gotten a decent picture. But she was grateful for the professionalism with which Nina Miles and her team had handled the shoot. None of them had shown her an ounce of pity. They acted as if pity wasn’t even warranted, and that had made Tia feel more normal than anything else.

Although this part of California didn’t get snow, even at Christmas, the cold air coming through the vents of her car smelled crisp and clean. She filled her lungs and let her breath go. Although she’d never experienced the kind of excitement most children did at the approach of Christmas—there’d been no Santa, decorated tree or presents where she came from—she was beginning to feel the stirrings of a childlike wonder.

She was alive. She had her whole life ahead of her despite the accident. She had enough savings to carry her for a couple of years, if necessary, until she could find work she enjoyed, even if it wasn’t acting. And she was free of the ties that bound her poor sister to Kalona, Iowa. As much as she missed her family and some of the other members of the community and mourned the loss of those connections, at the end of the day, she was grateful to be where she was. She had to forge her own path. At least she’d managed to escape the constant guilt and shame that her parents and their strict teachings had heaped upon her. That was more than she could say for a lot of Mennonites. It wasn’t easy to overcome the indoctrination, the lack of education and a general unfamiliarity with how the rest of the world worked. And yet she’d done it.

The holiday decorations blinking brightly in store windows and the manger scenes in the yards of the houses she passed made her want to buy a few gifts—a complete reversal from trying to hide from the world and ignore the season entirely. Tomorrow was the twenty-third. She was running out of time.