Three months after my divorce, I promised my five-year-old that Christmas would still feel like Christmas. Then I came home one night and found our decorations destroyed.The first thing that felt wrong was the silence. Not soft, snowy quiet. Dead quiet.I pulled into the driveway and just stared.My Christmas lights were gone.Not crooked. Not half out.Gone.The roof was bare.The porch rails were empty.
The wreath I’d wired to the front column was missing.The plastic candy canes that had lined the sidewalk were snapped and tossed in a pile by the bushes. Even the white twinkle lights I’d wrapped around the maple were ripped down, leaving scraped bark.In the middle of the yard lay my long green extension cord. Cut clean in half.I’m 47. Recently divorced. Single mom.I’ve learned to “stay calm” like it’s a side hustle. But my chest went hot so fast it scared me.We’d moved into this house three months earlier, after the divorce.New school for my five-year-old, Ella.
