Christmas morning dawned cold and quiet.
My phone didn’t buzz with messages or greetings. No calls. No texts. I spent the morning alone, wrapped in a blanket, watching the snow fall. I reminded myself that this was the consequence of change. That discomfort often comes before growth.
Then, unexpectedly, there was a loud knock at my door.
Not a gentle tap. Not a hesitant ring. A firm, urgent pounding.
When I opened the door, I was met with a sight I hadn’t anticipated. My family stood there, bundled in coats and scarves, faces tired and tense. They looked cold, frustrated, and unsure.
Their carefully made backup plan had unraveled overnight.
A burst pipe had flooded the house where they planned to gather. The heating system had failed. The kitchen was unusable. There was no warm place to cook, no comfortable space to sit, and no easy solution.
They had nowhere else to go.
For a moment, we simply stared at one another. The air was heavy with unspoken thoughts.
