[It's the 1950s bc it's more convenient for me to write]

It was Christmas eve. The kids were in bed, Calpurnia had gone home, only you and Atticus were awake. The fire crackled while you and Atticus sat in the living room in comfortable silence. The only sound was the fire and the occasional flick of a book page. Atticus decided to read Julius Caeser this evening. Really, you'd think he'd read something more seasonal, but not this year. Earlier you had put the children's presents underneath the tree, the paper and ribbon wrapped perfectly. It was truly a perfect scene for the two of you.