That Christmas morning had started quietly, almost too quietly. The streets outside the café were dusted with snow, and the world felt still. Most people were home with family, opening presents and watching old holiday movies. I, on the other hand, was behind the counter making lattes for the few souls who wandered in. Working on Christmas wasn’t new to me—I’d done it before—but that year, something about it felt heavier. Maybe it was the ache of missing my parents across the country, or maybe it was simply the loneliness of watching others come and go while I stayed behind the counter, forcing a smile…..CONTINUE READING IN BELOW
Pages: 1 2
