Not to mention the fact that no one has to see them opening those presents, isn’t that right?

Her boss yelled at her from the kitchen and Lynn stood up, draining the last bit of coffee. For a moment she thought about the program she’d signed up for that brought Christmas to their home for no charge.

All that was required was the goodness of strangers. That and a visit down to the local Salvation Army so they could make sure she was who she said she was.

Going there and giving her information had been humiliating enough. Tomorrow she would talk to Sara and Thomas about what gifts they’d like. A part of her still doubted they’d actually get the things the kids would ask for. Goodness in people was nice in theory, just like marriages and soup kitchens and happily-ever-afters. But in reality, reliance on them could end up hurting you.

Hurting you and breaking your heart.

The trailer looked abandoned and discarded on the side of the road.

If Lynn didn’t know her children, she might think they’d abandoned and discarded her. But she knew them well—they weren’t going anywhere without her.

She turned off her car and wondered, as the door squeaked open, how much longer she’d be able to drive it. Japanese cars often survived two hundred thousand miles. It was the lack of maintenance that worried her. Lynn pushed the thought from her mind.

Another day done, Lynn thought. Another day the car did its job.

She wished she could say the same about herself as a mom.

It was close to midnight. She still smelled like the restaurant. Sometimes she swore she could smell it even when she had freshly showered and wore different clothes. Something about the grills and the grease seemed to stick on her. Like bad memories, they wouldn’t go away.

She tried the door handle to the trailer and was relieved to see it was locked. Thomas remembered.

I ask too much of him, Lord. Way too much.

Lynn was quiet as she slipped through the door and turned on the haggard light over the tiny table in the kitchen to her right. The sight depressed her, even more than the steaming grills of the diner and the gap-toothed grin of Larry, who liked to gawk at her as he slaved over them.

In the silence, she took in her surroundings and wondered again how she’d arrived at this moment. This wasn’t a situation she’d suddenly walked into. This was the dead end she’d journeyed to over time.

She put her keys on the counter, then saw the note.

Hey Mom—

Leftover pizza. Found a great deal so I got us one today for Thanksgiving. Sara was happy for five seconds!

T

With that, Lynn started to cry.

Not out of self-pity or sadness. But because she’d just been reminded that this wasn’t a dead end.

This trailer didn’t define her. The faded and cracking walls didn’t paint a picture of her or her family. This address didn’t imprison her.