After Christmas Eve service, my family drove into downtown St. Paul and randomly handed out 15 Christmas Acts of Kindness — envelopes into which we tucked $5 gift cards, hand knit scarves or a kid's book. We looked for people waiting at the bus stop, cleaning a deserted office building or simply walking in the cold. I, of course, was curious about their stories. Where was she going on the bus? Did he have his custodian job for awhile now?
Christmas Act of Kindness, 2013
Each one of our sightings and givings felt like a scene in a book, for example this one: She crossed the deserted streets of St. Paul on Christmas Eve, her shoulders hunched and her arms laden with tote bags, though they didn't look to be holding gifts. Her own clothes perhaps? The wind was coming in sideways, sweeping snow into her path. She turned right at 4th Street, and sought shelter in the bus stop, thankful for the respite. Bags slid from her forearms and onto the bench. “Merry Christmas,” I said as I approached. She eyed me warily. “A little something for you.” I said. The bus pulled up, and she pushed my envelope into the side of her bag. “Thank you,” she said and turned to go.
Who was she? Where was she going? To see whom?
PRACTICE
For fifteen minutes, finish this Christmas story, by writing about what happened once this lady boarded the bus. Would she ride all night? Going to her daughter's house? Did she open the envelope and find the scarf? Merry Christmas to you and yours!
Merry Christmas and thanks for this prompt, what a perfect way to start my day.
Merry Christmas everybody!! Oh, I’m going to have to resist the urge to give this girl a terrible backstory and a fantastical future XD Okay, let’s see…
Dessa hurriedly boarded the bus, awkwardly coordinating all the bags to take as little room as possible. She sighed; they still took up an entire seat beside her. Oh well, at least no one could sit beside her now, if anyone else came on. She was on her own for now.
Dessa’s attention slid to the envelope the woman had given her, and she felt curiosity push against innate wariness.
She slid it out of the crease where it’d been stuffed, running her hands over the neat lump inside, dry skin catching at the sharp, white material. In warm, elegant script were the words ‘Merry Christmas!’ and a small smiley face, looking as if it’d been drawn by a child.
Dessa felt the side of her mouth quirked up. She carefully ripped the bottom of the envelop open, and a knit woolen, silver and green scarf fell out like a rock. A delighted laugh, unfamiliar to her, clawed its way out of her chest and weaved gleefully through the air, as she picked it up and shook it open. It was soft, small, easy, and thoughtful.
“Oh,” Dessa said impulsively as a piece of paper slipped out and hit her lap. She unfolded it and felt a queer smile move to her lips as she read the words–
“You have been chosen as the receiver of A Christmas Act of Kindness.” Dessa jumped at the voice from behind her. Blinking, she inhaled the scent of snow and cold air, and realized that while she’d been wondering at this strange gift, someone else had boarded her ride to nowhere.
Dessa glanced back at a boy, little and buck-toothed, as he grinned at her. “Well, that’s nice. You sure are lucky,” he said, plopping down on the seat behind her and opening a book.
Dessa shook her head. “Yeah, I guess I am,” she murmured. Her, lucky. The thought made her snort, but she supposed that right now, it was true.
~~
Well, that’s about as optimistic as my writing gets XD It was pretty darn hard to do, too!
Wonderful! This might be my favorite line: She slid it out of the crease where it’d been stuffed, running her hands over the neat lump inside, dry skin catching at the sharp, white material. What a visual!
Thank you! ^ ^
Great detail with the smiley face drawn by a child. Sweet and authentic.
Thank you! 🙂
My 15 minutes of practice:
Louise, as she found a seat on the bus, kept her eyes on the woman who gave her the envelope. She didn’t trust “do gooders.” They always expected something in return. Oh, not for themselves, but “for your own good,”they said. Telling her to go to a shelter, to go to a soup kitchen, to sign up for this program or that program. Louise didn’t want to be in any program. A number, a statistic, a gold star on somebody’s record. Another person saved.Louise Allister, once a teacher, a wife, a mother. Now a nobody. A homeless nobody. Well. She wasn’t a nobody. She had worked today. Cleaning toilets. And why not? It was a job. An honest job she had found herself. And, it was her job as long as she showed up on time and did what she was supposed to do. That’s why she was on the bus instead of walking. She could ride now; she had a job.But, after tonight she would walk to save the money. Someday, when she had saved enough, she would ride all the way to her daughter’s house. All cleaned up and dressed nicely, not in these handouts, but dressed with clothes she bought herself. Next Christmas would be different.
I love this! I love how all of a sudden Louis has an identity, a backstory. I want to check in with Louise in a few months!
Thank you, Marianne. This was done early this Christmas morning without much thought and was written in exactly 15 minutes. I will have to go back to it and finish the story of Louise.
Adelaide
Great job, Adelaide! You have such a strong voice here with Louise – drew me right into the story with “She didn’t trust do-gooders”
Thank you Margaret. I see that my new writing project for 2014 is going to be to finish this story.
Adelaide
She was no lady. She was a strong woman, a good woman, sometimes a mad woman, always a mother, a grandmother and a sister, but no lady. As her own grandmother had told her when she was a child, ” Ladies are married to Lords, we are Women and Proud of it.” Her grandmother even put in the Capital letters by inflection.
As Marta juggled her bags and slowly made her way to the middle of the bus, near the side door, for easiest exit, she looked back and saw the little family standing on the sidewalk gazing after the bus. She wondered if they were happy that she had taken their gift, or disappointed that she had not opened it on the spot. Then she forgot about them entirely, focused on her plans for Christmas Eve.
Her bags contained last minute gifts, for her neighbors, her grand children, her sister and her son. Marta had carried out a family tradition handed down to her by her mother and grandmother. Shop ’til you drop, but not before the 24th. Decorate your tree on Christmas Eve. The wrapping paper waiting at home was a bright green with dancing Santas cavorting on streams of red ribbon. There was a 99 cent roll of red, green and white narrow ribbon in one of the bags. She planned a wrapping fest.
Marta got home right about the same time as her oldest son. He pulled up into the narrow driveway and as the garage door opened to admit the Lexus, Marta struggled past the car with all her bags in disarray.
“Let me help you there, Mom” called out Larry, leaping out of the car. He unburdened her while chiding her gently, “I don’t know why you do this to yourself every year. You could just shop on the Internet, or use one of the shopping services at one of the big department stores.”
“I love the energy of the city, the lights and the crowds, the thrill of the chase, and even the feeling of exhaustion” replied Marta, as she and her son crowded into the tiny elevator.
Later, after the family had dispersed to their apartments on the floors below, Marta finished wrapping the gifts she had hidden in her bedroom closet from the grand kids. She flopped onto her comfy sofa, sipping a small glass of eggnog and looked contentedly at the tree that they had decorated with the ornaments and lights saved from generations of Schmits. Yes, Marta Schmit was a tired holder of tradition that night.
Finally she remembered the envelope the family had given her at the bus stop. She got up and retrieved it from her coat pocket. She put it on the tree, in the middle near the top. She smiled. A gift from strangers. A perfect Christmas Eve.
Here’s my practice (a little late, I know!) I hope it’s not too depressing! I tried to put a touch of optimism in the finish.
She eyed the retreating stranger as the bus pulled up. Nervously, she gathered all her bags and scrambled up the stairs into the bus. She leaned her forehead against the window of the bus as it drove off. Another few minutes and she’d be there.
Home.
If you could call it that. It had once bene home. She could still remember Christmas at home. She could smell the roast turkey, the Christmas pudding, the mince pies.
But that had been a long time ago. Before the storm. When she was still young and innocent. And naive.
The bus stopped in front of the house and she hurriedly paid the driver before stepping out into the cold.
She heard the bus drive away, its engine roaring. And then everything was silent.
She looked upa the old house. Paint peeled off teh walls. Ivy snaked around the pillars of the porch. The old bench where Mama used to sit was broken and dusty.
For just a moment she could remember when the house was new and beautiful and a Christmas wreath was hung around the handles of the front door. The door-handles which time had eaten away until they had fallen off.
Christmas. Somewhere she heard people singing softly. Silent Night, holy night. She had sung that too. Long ago. When she still believed in Christmas.
She stepped onto the porch. There was no use thinking. No use remembering. Life had changed. Storms had raged and ripped the world apart. Even Christmas couldn’t be happy forever.
She pushed the door open with ehr shoulder and walked in. There was no furniture in the house. Another aching reminder that the house was a dream of yesterday, that no one lived here anymore.
She dumped her bags down on the dusty floor. There was nothing useful in them. She didn’t know why she had done it. It was sentimentality alone that had possessed her this afternoon but somehow she couldn’t resist it.
She pulled out the small Christmas tree that she had bought and set it up. She took out the presents and wrapped them. She wrote names in the cards. Mama. Papa. Danny. Davy. Lucy. Katie. She put the presents under the Christmas tree and lit a candle beside it.
She stood back. That was how it used to look. Except there were more Christmas decorations on the tree. Decorations you couldn’t find in the store. Decorations only Mama knew how to make.
She wiped a tear from her cheek. She was supposed to be strong. For twenty years she had pretended she didn’t feel the pain. For twenty years she had pretended her heart hadn’t been wrenched open. Why had she given in now?
She tirpped over a bag and found a last parcel she had forgotten. Of course. The stranger. The woman who still believed in Merry Christmas. She lifted it from the bag and felt it. She could remember feeling presents when she was young, trying to guess what was inside.
She stared at the flickering candle-light. After twenty years the pain should have eased. After twenty years she should be bale to tell epople with a clam voice what had happened. The Christmas vacation. The train smash. Twenty years ago. To the day.
Why didn’t the pain go away? They said grief was a natural process. They said the past and the pain would wipe itself away. They said she would be able to move on.
They had been wrong
She lifted the present and opened it. A scarf tumbled out of the paper. It was red and long and soft. She picked it up and snuggled it against her face. It smelled beautiful. Like Mama’s soap.
She looked back at the Christmas tree, the presents. Maybe it was time she moved on. Time she discovered the place where Christmases were still happy.
This made me cry. I could feel the anguish of your character.
Beautiful! All these wonderful stories are making me wonder what really did happen to the scarf! LOL. I’m feeling so happy for the woman in your story! 🙂
thanks, Marianne – this was a fun exercise to do the day after Christmas…
Why do strangers see me at Christmas when I am invisible the rest of the
year? No one sees me. Even at the food bank. “You can fill two bags today,
Millie” the young volunteer with the blue mohawk hairdo doesn’t look at me, his eyes on the sign in sheet and the pen in my hand that says “Let Anchor Bank Help You Sail”. He’s waiting and watching like the rest of the volunteers for me to write my address when he knows I don’t have one. He knows if I had an address, I wouldn’t need to take three buses to get there for his dented cans of soup.
But every year as soon as those bell ringers with the red pots and Santa
hats start showing up on street corners, strangers approach me with wishes for a Merry Christmas. I guess it makes them feel good to open their eyes for a few days of the year and notice the old lady wearing a coat three sizes bigger than what she needs. Now that would be noticing! If someone gave me a coat that fit. A warm one. Maybe a coat filled with those duck feathers that are supposed to keep the hunters warm while they sit and wait for the poor duck to come along. Why people like to slip those plastic cards in my bags is beyond me. Worthless. All of them. $5 for Starbucks. $20 for Target. No one lets an old lady like me use some plastic card.
One year someone gave me a a hundred dollar bill. Said Merry Christmas, shoved it in my hand and hurried away before I could even see what it was. I was hungry that day so went to the Seven Eleven to buy a chocolate bar and coke and the clerk said he’d call the police if I didn’t leave – asked me where I stole the hundred dollar bill! So I gave it to old Ernie. He sometime gets to clean up at his grandson’s apartment and when his hair is combed, he can buy cigarettes at any Seven Eleven. That hundred dollars kept old Ernie happy for a week, but did nothing for me. I still wish it was a coat that guy shoved into my hand…
I’m starting to feel a bit inauthentic about my random acts of kindness! LOL. Love the detail of the writing on the pen — let Anchor Bank Help you Sail! I am so amazed at how the putting together of your words and details have painted such a compelling picture.
awww, thanks, Marianne. I lived in Minnesota for 16 years and Anchor Bank was my bank. Am from Canada (back now!) where our banks are few and governed, Royal Bank of Canada, etc. Your prompt let me play with that and poor old Millie who just showed her face while I was writing about the bank…
She hefted her bags back into the crook of her elbows, and waddled up the bus steps. The heavy bags kept her slightly off balance. She struggled to find the dollar fare, searching through.her oversize purse for pennies. When she had finally counted out eighty cents, the exasperated driver motioned for her to sit down. Clumsly she pulled her bags to the back of the buss and settled into an empty seat. She sighed in relief.her whole body ached.
She wanted nothing more than to fall asleep immediately, but sleeping on a Metro bus was prohibited. If caught asleep, a transit cop could put you off the bus, where ever he choose. She had no more change, so she couldn’t allow herself to be booted.from this sanctuary.
Once settled, she remembered the small package.the nice woman had slipped into her hand just before the bus arrived. She pulled it out of the side pocket of her purse, and quickly unwrapped it. At she pulled the paper away, she gasped. In her hands was a beautiful warm hand knit scarf. She swallowed hard, and tried to beat back the tears stinging her eyes.
The last Christmas she had spent at home, her mother had given her a hand knit scarf. Old memories flooded her mind. Quick pictures of her happy.childhood. The tensions Dan caused in her family that finally led to.her running away. She had married Dan, and since then had lived in torment. Dan abused her.
Finally, after years, she walked away from him. She left with no money, no job, and no safe place to go. She was carrying what little she owned in her menagerie of shopping bags.
She had not spoken to anyone in her family for over twenty years.
Looking down at the scarf, she made a decision. At the next bus stop.she got off. She pulled her bags into the nearest phone booth. Quickly she dialed 0 followed by a long-remembered phone number. “Collect,”.she responded to the operator.
A womans voice accepted the charges.
“Mom,” she said in a shaking voice.
Wow!!! The imagination is such a wonderful thing!
“Finally, I’m in some heat!” she thought to herself as she took the first step inside, boarding the bus. She was too tired to tell the young man not to bother giving her anything. Based on the last few hours of this day (in addition to this year), there was NOTHING that anyone needed to give her. If it wasn’t better news, a job, or just something of some good for a chance, there was no use. She didn’t have the time nor optimism. She guided her body down the bus aisle,tightly gripping her bags. In what seemed like an instant, they had become all she owned. She plopped down into the first empty seat that caught her eye. “Thank God I got a seat to myself!” Surprised, she gave her first smile of the day. She had approximately fifteen minutes of “alone” time until she reached her stop: the only hotel that the change from buying her mother’s Christmas gift could afford. She squeezed her left pants pocket and confirmed that after she checked in tonight, all the money would be gone. She could worry or be happy that Mother had a gift. She chose the latter: sacrifice. There was no more money left for the rent as of two days before Christmas Eve. She saw it coming, so she bought a paper. There’s a receptionist job open on 25th and Delancey, She has an interview. It’s the day after Christmas. She had 5 minutes until her stop. She had done all she could for now. Tomorrow is Christmas, she could try and be merry or do more thinking. The envelope mercifully stole her interest. With low expectations, she routinely ripped it open A plain, yet practical scarf unfolded onto her lap.Was anyone going to charge her for it.?? This could keep her warm. Mother’s home got quite drafty at times. PLUS, it could serve as something “new”. Motherwould see that she was still doing “well”. Besides, who really has adversities beyond their control? Not in her life. She exhaled deeply, just as her stop slowly approached her window. Quickly, she carefully placed her new scarf in her bag, purposely discarding its envelope. Somehow, she couldn’t just receive a gift, she had to do the giving. This year, she could not. She couldn’t think about it any longer. She had a gift. She had something to cover her neck as well as the truth. She had developed a secret. She had become homeless, but now she had a scarf. She felt a little more in control. Thank God for something new! She gathered her bags, lifted her body from the seat, and exited the bus. That night, she laid in her chilly hotel room, praying for tomorrow’s courage. She grabbed her scarf for warmth, placing it around her neck. The scarf would fit perfectly with the navy blazer that she planned to wear for Christmas Dinner at mother’s. Her mind gleefully skipped to the day after: the receptionist interview! A scarf can make any woman look professional! Suddenly, her sadness faded away in the night’s slumber…now a testimony. She had a scarf. Suddenly, she could get through it. Suddenly, it was Christmas…
I am loving these stories!
“Merry Christmas, Alice!” the bus driver said as she dropped her fare in the fare box and made sure the stuffed tote bags cleared the doors as they closed. “Merry Christmas, Bob! They’ve got you working tonight too, huh?” Alice smiled shuffling into a seat with the tote bags safely under her feet. “Yeah, but I get off in an hour. Hey, who was that you were talking to back there?” Bob asked spinning the wheel of the bus as it turned onto 34th Street. “I don’t know Bob. She just pushed this in my bag and was off like a shot.” Alice replied inspecting the manila envelope. “Well, all I know is that your peeps are gonna love you for the meal you’ll be making for them!” Bob laughed looking at the tote bags that had now fallen open showing all the cans and packages of food inside. “Well, I can’t claim to be the founder of a shelter and not have food for the ones I love” Alice smiled pinning the Christmas broach on the sweater she wore under her torn up coat. “Where are you going when your shift is over? “Alice asked starting to open the envelope. “Oh, just home to eat alone. It just hasn’t been the same since I lost my wife last year.” Bob said falling into a moment of silence. Tears welled up in her eyes as she opened the envelope wide enough to read the note inside which read, “I’ve seen you come to this stop often and know who you are. See, I was one of the people you sheltered last year, and because of you I’ve been able to get back on my feet. Please use my gift to make someone else’s life better just like you did mine. Merry Christmas!”
The bus reached Alice’s stop. Bob parked the bus and helped Alice get the bags to the door of the shelter. Alice followed Bob as he got back on the bus, put the envelope in his hands and said “Merry Christmas Bob. Don’t be alone tonight.” Alice hurried off the bus and took the tote bags into the shelter. Happy shouts from the people inside greeted her.
Alice and her volunteers put out a fabulous Christmas feast. “All we’re missing is a turkey” Alice said to a few people who were around her. “I believe I can take care of that” Alice heard from a booming voice behind her. She turned around to see Bob dressed in a Santa suit with a huge fully cooked turkey in his arms. “It wouldn’t be right for me to eat alone, especially for the gift you gave me; so here…my gift to you…and all of you!” Bob bellowed out adding the turkey to the table full of food.
When dinner finished and everyone sat around sharing Christmas stories, Alice flipped on the TV and chuckled as the movie, A Miracle on 34th Street came on. “What’s so funny?” Bob asked sipping a glass of soda. “Well Bob,” Alice replied with a smile, “A Miracle on 34th Street is about a miracle. The shelter here is on 34th Street, and tonight, because of one person’s gift, we just experienced a miracle too!”
She had many bags with her,today was no different than any other. She was going no where, as usual she rode on the bus to stay warm. She had burned many bridges,She was not the type of person you could easily help.
Her pride interfered with her ability to become dependant on the kindness of others. Hospitality had been offered her many times, She would seldom accept the offers unless she could go no further. She had the skills of a savant in the area of sewing. She designed and tailored clothes when ever she could get to use the sewing machine at the neighborhood centers.,Those bags she carried had her creations in there. High fashion hats and scarfs, So Ironic that she would be given the one gift that she did not need. She was as strong as ten men. And her fortitude came from her determination to do things her way; Answer to no one.and continue to go no where to see no one as she had been doing for twenty years or more since her husband put her out to fend for herself. I have seen her before and I know that God is with her and it is that same God,that has given her the protection that’s kept going all these years. . One day I will ask her for the Whole Story. as to why she walks these streets and rides on buses going nowhere.I heard so many stories about this lady that walks with ten bags.. and I hope I can write for her ( one day ) a happy ending.
Once she boarded the bus, she took a seat all the way in the back. Same one she has been sitting on every night for the past few years. The bus continues down it’s regular route while Catherine stares out the window. It has been a long day and she is exhausted. Working in a retail store is not easy, specially the night before Christmas when people create complete chaos with their last minute shopping. “I hate Christmas” she whispers to herself as a tear rolls down her cheek. It was this time five years ago that a drunk driver took her husband and daughter’s lives. Catherine was the only one to survive the tragic accident. All she has done since is blame herself and as a result, she promised to never get behind a wheel again nor to celebrate the season to be jolly.
Her phone chimes in her purse and startles her from the horrific scenes playing in her mind. “Yes Sophie?” She answers the call.
“Hello to you too sister.” Sophie exclaims in a frustrated tone. “Harry and I were wondering if you’d like to come spend Christmas with us. The kids have not stopped asking for their favorite aunt and it would be nice for you to change the routine.”
Catherine sighs into the phone and starts to speak but pauses when her voice slightly cracks, “Sophie do we really need to go through this every year?”
“Yes we do. I will not give up on you Catherine,” she sighs, “At least not until I get my sister back.” After a minute of silence, she continues “I know this is not an easy time for you but I know Jack and Emily would have wanted you to keep living your life and to be happy.”
“I am living my life and don’t you talk about them again.” Catherine yells and presses the end button, It causes a few of the others in the bus to look back startled and eye her warily. She rolls her eyes at them and shoves her phone back in her purse when she notices the envelope that the young lady gave her at the bus stop. She pulls it out and and sets her purse on the empty seat beside her.
“Let’s see what these people are asking for now.” She exclaims, assuming it’s the same stack of papers she receives form the church goers every year. Asking to join their church or to participate in retreats but always asking for money. Once she opens it and retrieves the contents within the envelope, the hairs in the back of her neck start to prickle and her heart squeezes in her chest. “Oh my.” It is a beautiful hand knit scarf along with a Christmas card that explains the reason for the gift. “A Christmas Act of Kindness” she whispers the words scribbled on the card. Tears fill her eyes at the irony. She and her daughter (and sometimes her husband) used to do this very same thing. It was their usual routine every Christmas eve. She hold the scarf to her chest with the memories bringing joy back into her heart. She smiles taking this as a sign from heaven. She slides off the seat and leaving all the tote bags behind, runs to the front of the bus. “Please stop the bus.” she tells the driver trying to catch her breath. Holding on to the rail with one hand she pulls out her cell phone and dials her sister. After two rings her sister answers, “Yes?”
“Sophie, I’m so sorry,” Catherine breaks down into uncontrollable sobs.
My curiosity bested me. Something about this woman made me reach out and touch her shoulder before she got on the bus.
“I hope you don’t mind me asking, but do you have somewhere to stay tonight?” I asked meekly, not knowing how she might respond. I hoped she didn’t think I was being rude, prying.
The woman turned. For the first time I could see that, in fact, the overworn tote bags she clutched so tightly were full of wrinkled, wadded up clothing and a few other personal items, toiletries mostly. Definitely hers.
“I haven’t had a place to go for three years now,” she replied. “Unless you count the shelter over on 7th — when it isn’t full.”
My hearth sank. I realized how insignificant my Christmas Act of Kindness was.
“I am sorry,” I found myself saying. I did not know what else to say. “I didn’t mean -”
“That’s the way it is,” she said, interrupting. Though her response was quick, it was neither hostile nor sad. It was more emotion-less — a simple statement of a fact as cold as the air swirling around us.
The bus driver honked her horn. “Are you getting on or not?” she asked, impatiently. “We gotta get moving.”
“I better be going,” the woman said. Stepping onto the first step of the bus, she added, “Don’t want to be left behind.” Instead of ascending, however, she paused and turned once more, this time with a thin smile. “But I thank you for caring enough to even ask. It’s nice to be asked now and again. Makes a person still feel like they matter, even if just a little bit. Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas,” I said, trying my best to smile back.
The woman stepped up into the bus, paid the fare with a handful of small change, and took a seat near the back of the bus. I watched her the entire time; she did not look back at me. For a long while after the bus had pulled away, and until our family regrouped, I remained at the bus stop, alone with my thoughts. What forces had led this woman to a life of homelessness? I kept asking myself. I knew I would never see her again, and so, I would never know the answer.
As we drove home that night, I did not speak. The car’s heater was on full blast; yet, I had never felt so cold — and powerless. How terrible she must feel, I wondered. It was a thought that would remain with me for many days to come.
She quickly got on to the bus without even saying thank you. The bus was cold and she felt even colder, she was not used to chilly winters. For the last ten years she had lived in Kampala,Uganda. She was here visiting her daughter on a visitor visa. When she arrived three months back,she was beaming with joy.Not now, she really felt she had overstayed. But her family back in Uganda was so happy that she had got her visa approved for four months stay. She had cooked all her daughter’s favorite foods ,did not complain of boredom. Wonder what had wrong, why was her daughter complaining to her boyfriend that she wanted her mom out. How would she tell her husband that she would have to prepone her journey. She and her husband had struggled to give the children a good life, while the worked in the city of Kampala, the children were in boarding schools and later on had come to the USA for university education. Her husband would be broken hearted if she confessed that her daughter did not respect them. She would never come home. She would not mind not meeting her daughter at all, but would it not hurt her daughter later in life, how will i ever convince her to rethink. Tell us where we went wrong. Dreamily she opened the packet that the kind lady had handed over, oh..the lovely scraf. She felt small thinking that she had not even thanked her. Then she got down to go back to her daughter’s Apartment, she had redone her tickets, now she had to Skype and let her husband know she was coming back.