Carmen Berzatto has never had a nice Christmas. Not one in his twenty-nine years of life.

But since Mikey’s been gone, and since Sugar and him and Richie unanimously decided to leave the seven fishes tradition alone, Christmas has started to look up.

Because, now, he has you and he has your two year old daughter, Amelia, and he has the tiny little baby boy, Theo, who was born only last week, tucked away in the bassinet beside your bed.

You’ve pushed for a proper Christmas this year. Turkey and vegetables, sweets for breakfast, tea and eggnog and matching pyjamas, cinnamon scented candles dotted around the apartment. And, of course, a million presents for your babies, piled beneath the tree.

It’s early when Amelia wanders into your bedroom. She’s gotten herself up from her big girl bed, and made her way all the way down the hall on her own, and she’s trying her best to clamber up onto the bed when Carmy wakes up.

It doesn’t take long for her to be shaking you awake, and as your dreary eyes open, your heart practically melts.

Amelia is tucked beneath the duvet between you, comfy in the middle as she bites down on her pacifier that Carmen had so clearly given in to giving her, and her hair is puffed up in all directions. And Carmen is slowly sitting up, ever so carefully, as he balances your newborn boy against his chest, seemingly cuddling the tiny baby for warmth. His Christmas pyjamas have been discarded on the floor, and he has a hand on Amelia’s head, warning her as she bashes your shoulder in excitement, babbling something about Santa, and hearing Father Christmas come down the chimney.

“C’mon Amelia, don’t shake Mommy.., she’s still sore, baby, you’re presents aren’t gonna disappear if you wait another five minutes…”