3. Running Springs in Snowlight The snow had dusted the parking lot like powdered sugar over a childhood dream. We lived in Running Springs, and that morning, the world felt kind. I raced downstairs— my breath caught between the hush of snow and the hush of presents. I can’t recall the gifts. Maybe a truck. Maybe a game. But I remember the tree, and the warmth in Mama’s hands. It was one of the last magical Christmases— before I learned that magic has rules, and I had broken them just by being myself.