Every Christmas Eve, I still wake up before my alarm, even as an adult. Last year was special. Snow fell quietly while I carried boxes up from the basement, the same decorations we’ve used since I was a kid. The lights flickered the way they always do, and for a moment I thought my dad would walk in and fix them like he used to. We burned the roast, laughed too hard about it, and ended the night with hot tea instead of cocoa. It wasn’t perfect, but it felt warm, familiar, and exactly right.
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