The Aftermath
Later that night, I received a long text from my daughter:
Mom, I am so sorry. I didn’t realize how much we were putting on you. I feel embarrassed. We shouldn’t have assumed. We shouldn’t have joked about you. I hope you know we love you. Can we talk tomorrow? Merry Christmas, Mom. Truly.
I didn’t answer right away.
Instead, I sat by the fireplace in the little cabin I rented last minute. I listened to the crackling logs and watched the snow fall outside. For the first time in my adult life, I was spending Christmas Eve in complete peace. No rushing. No cooking for an army. No stress.
Just warmth. Just quiet. Just me.
And it felt beautiful.
