The Christmas I Went Alone
I stood in her kitchen on Christmas Eve.
Staring at her old roasting pan.
I almost didn’t cook.
But I heard her voice:
“It’s for someone who needs it.”
I made what I could.
Baked chicken.
Instant mashed potatoes.
Canned green beans.
Boxed cornbread.
I packed it the way she always had.
The laundromat looked the same.
But inside — everything was different.
Eli was there.
But not the Eli I remembered.
No hoodie.
No bag.
He was standing tall.
Wearing a pressed dark suit.
Holding white lilies.
I froze.
“You came,” he said, eyes filling with tears.
“Why are you dressed like that?” I whispered.
He looked down at the flowers.
“They’re for your mom.”
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