Chapter 3: December 23
On the morning of December 23, I woke up in a small beach hotel room with the sound of waves outside my window.
No one had called yet.
No frantic messages.
No one had realized I was gone.
I made coffee in the little machine on the dresser and sat on the balcony watching the ocean.
The air was cold and salty.
I breathed it in deeply.
For the first time in years, there was no schedule.
No dinner to cook.
No grandchildren to entertain.
No one expecting me to be the strong, reliable one.
I spent the day walking on the beach.
I bought a book at a small shop and read it on a bench with the sun on my face.
I had a simple lunch at a café by the water.
I called no one.
And no one called me.
That night, I sat in bed with the window open, listening to the waves.
I thought about the house I had left behind.
The tree.
The presents.
The note on the table.
I wondered what they would say when they arrived.
I wondered if they would understand.
I wondered if it mattered.
May you like
For the first time in decades, Christmas belonged to me.
And it felt like coming home to myself.
