“Thank you,” I said, my voice cracking, and I forced myself to finish. “I will be there in about twenty, but I’ll probably just go straight to bed.”

“Okay, dear. Be careful and I’ll see you soon.” She tried to hide her disappointment, but it weaved its way in between her words. Mom knew I was different from the last time I was here; the old Olive wouldn’t be able to pick me out of a line up.

My cab driver stayed quiet as we carefully rolled down the icy streets. My chin rested on my hand as I looked out the frosted window. The trees had icicle lights dangling from them, and the streetlights were faded underneath the thick layers of snow that coated them. The town was quiet, as it was too early for any shopping or restaurants to be open. It looked like it was right out of the magazines in the dentist office, with a cover of the streetlights and mountains in the background, the caption reading: “Walking in a Winter Wonderland.” Snow flurried down the town's beloved streets like it was made specifically for Christmas day. The early morning sky peeking through the mountain oasis was still sprinkled with bright stars, occasionally dimmed by a streetlamp. This place was once a paradise to me. It had been the purest form of comfort, like a cup of warm cider, thick socks in front of a roaring fire, and Christmas lights twinkling. Now the cider has gone cold, and the lights have burned out.

The car ride wasn’t as quick as I hoped. When I arrived at the house, all the lights were on, illuminating familiar cars in the driveway and the still slightly crooked mailbox. I grabbed my luggage out of the cab and tipped the driver. As he slowly creeped back down the slick driveway, I made my way toward the cozy log cabin I once called home.

The tall cabin was made of cedar with floor-to-ceiling windows that allowed you to view straight to the kitchen. Thankfully our street was private, so we never cared about the openness. I could see Mom’s wreath on the front door and lights strung inside but noticed there was no Christmas tree in the window yet. As I adjusted my bags and walked down the snowy drive, the lights inside mysteriously turned off. My suitcase rolled over the slick ice, and I had to walk slowly so as not to fall on my butt and ruin my perfectly styled travel wear. When I reached the front door, I found it unlocked. I inched the door open, calling out, “Mom?”