The young woman had come in with a little girl who looked about seven, both wearing winter coats that had clearly seen better days, and although the mother appeared exhausted, she listened to her daughter with the kind of undivided attention Arthur had not witnessed in years.
The diner was nearly empty, its windows decorated with paper snowflakes, a small artificial Christmas tree standing beside the register, and an old holiday song playing quietly through the speakers.
Arthur had no particular reason to be there, except that he could not bear another Christmas Eve inside his enormous, silent house.
Three years earlier, his wife, Caroline, had passed away following a sudden illness, leaving behind a home filled with photographs, unfinished plans, and rooms that seemed to grow larger with every passing season.
They had been married for twenty-four years, and although they had often discussed raising children, Arthur had always believed there would be time after the next project, the next expansion, or the next important contract.
Eventually, there had been no more time to make those PLANS together.
Since losing Caroline, he had filled his calendar with work, convincing everyone around him that his relentless schedule was simply the habit of a successful man, when the truth was that returning to an empty house frightened him more than any business failure ever had.
That evening, his younger sister had invited him to spend Christmas with her family, but Arthur had declined, unable to imagine sitting among laughing children and happy couples while pretending he did not feel the absence of everything he had once hoped to have.
