That realization hurt more than I expected.
The days leading up to Christmas were unusually quiet. No frantic grocery runs. No lists taped to the refrigerator. No late-night baking or early-morning cleaning. My home was still, almost eerily so.
I tried to convince myself that the calm was a gift. That rest was something I deserved. And in many ways, it was. I slept more. I read. I enjoyed the quiet mornings with coffee and no agenda.
But loneliness has a way of sneaking in softly.
Every holiday song on the radio felt sharper than usual. Every festive commercial reminded me of what I wasn’t part of. I realized how easily I had been removed from a tradition I helped sustain for years.
Still, I didn’t reach out. I didn’t apologize for setting boundaries. I told myself that choosing myself didn’t make me selfish—it made me honest.
Then Christmas Eve arrived, and with it, a sudden winter storm.
The blizzard came fast and heavy, covering everything in thick snow and ice. Power flickered across the neighborhood. The temperature dropped sharply overnight. Roads became nearly impassable, and the world outside my window turned white and silent.
