I stared at the boxes on the table. The ones that were for her, that she would never unwrap. Last night it had helped ease my heart to set them out for her, as if she would be there to open them, but today looking at them brought nothing but sorrow. The fat stocking hung over the fireplace she would never open, and next to it would be our tree. I never did get to buy a tree and decorate it with her… The illusion of her coming back for Christmas faded. I looked back on the day I last saw her, four days ago. The things I had said to her… the things I had done, that now I regret looking back on this somber Chirstmas morning, perhaps the reason why there wasn’t a single gleaming Chirstmas tree light, or even a tree.