01/07/2025
My name is Victoria, and after 65 years, I can confidently say that I've had a blessed and joyful life. My husband passed away a few years ago, and since then, it's just been me and the two beautiful souls we brought into this world — our children.
As Christmas approached, I felt a surge of worry. I wrote to my children, inviting them to come over. I didn't want to hear their voices through a phone line; I wanted to hug them and share all the stories I'd been saving!
To make it all happen, I started working as a cleaner at a furniture store in the mall. It's not glamorous, but it's honest work, and I was proud to be able to pay my bills and even buy presents for everyone. Or so I thought — until the day my kids found out.
They were angry, and after that, they avoided talking to me entirely. Still, I held onto hope. I thought, I'll see them at Christmas and explain everything. But as the days passed, the silence from them cut deeper than any words could have.
On Christmas Eve, I was over the moon with excitement. Each car sound made my heart leap, but with every passing hour, the hope in my heart began to fade. I started to worry as I stared at the empty chairs around the dining table.
I called them several times, but they didn't answer... Slowly, it dawned on me that I might spend this special day alone, just like so many others. But then, the doorbell finally rang.👇
