“I will. But I won’t do it as an offering to people who may or may not show up.”

Patricia nodded.

“That’s different.”

Linda looked at her.

“I want to take another trip.”

“So do I.”

“Would you come?”

Patricia smiled.

“I was going to ask you exactly the same thing.”

Two days later, Linda flew home.

The flight was uneventful.

Bad movies.

Half-sleep.

Breakfast served at a time her body couldn’t understand.

She landed in Cleveland at 6:40 in the morning, collected her car from long-term parking, and drove through familiar Ohio roads.

Her house looked exactly as she had left it.

The tree was still standing.

The decorations were still there.

The rooms were still quiet.

But Linda wasn’t the same woman who had left.

She unpacked carefully.

Then she added her four new ornaments to the Christmas tree.

The glass village from Rothenburg.

The wooden bear from Salzburg.

The cowbell from Innsbruck.

The paper star from Lucerne.

She stepped back.

The tree looked different.

Not because four ornaments could transform it.

Because she had changed.

She made coffee and sat at her kitchen table.

There were seventeen messages waiting.

This time, Linda answered people.

Paul’s sister.

A woman from church.

An old friend she hadn’t spoken to since 2019.

She didn’t answer Hannah.

Hannah’s message read:

*Beautiful photos! Looks like you had a lovely time!!!*

Linda recognized the excessive punctuation.

Polite.

Social.

Obligatory.

She wasn’t ready to respond dishonestly.

So she didn’t respond at all.

Instead, she called Mark.

“Mom, you’re home.”

“Just got in.”

“You exhausted?”

“Strangely, no.”

“The photos were amazing.”

“Thank you.”

“You really looked happy.”

“I was.”

Mark grew quiet.

“I haven’t seen you look like that since Dad.”

“Neither have I.”

“He would have loved seeing you there.”

“He would have told me I should’ve gone sooner.”

Mark laughed softly.

Linda continued:

“Come for dinner Saturday.”

“You don’t need to cook.”