The night before Thanksgiving, I wandered the festive streets, feeling the weight of loneliness. Passing a shop, I noticed ornaments my mom and I used to pick together. “Mom loved those,” I whispered, the memory comforting yet bittersweet.
Then I saw Edie, an elderly woman struggling through the snow with a heavy suitcase. I offered to help, and she shared that she was on her way to surprise her daughter for Thanksgiving after years apart. As we walked, I ignored work calls from my boss, Arthur, choosing to focus on helping Edie instead.
We stopped at a shop, where Edie picked out a glass ornament, identical to the one my mom would’ve loved, for both her daughter and me. Afterward, we arrived at a house, but Edie’s daughter, Melody, wasn’t there. It turned out Edie had lied—there was no daughter waiting. Hurt, I led her back to the office, where Arthur was waiting, frustrated with my missed calls.
Later, I confronted Edie, who admitted she’d only wanted company for Thanksgiving. Understanding her loneliness, I felt a deep connection to her. That night, Arthur unexpectedly knocked on my door with the ornament Edie had given me, apologizing for his behavior. He suggested we visit Edie, and together, we shared a warm meal at her home, filling the holiday with unexpected connection and a new kind of family.
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