After a year away, Alex returned home expecting hugs, laughter, and a warm reunion with his wife, Jennifer. Instead, he stepped into the biggest nightmare of his life. I had been counting the days, scratching them off like a prisoner waiting for freedom. For almost twelve months I worked overseas on an engineering project, clinging to the thought of finally seeing my wife again. The idea of coming home to Jennifer kept me alive during the long nights. But when I finally pulled into the driveway, something didn’t feel right.

I never imagined my life would break apart at 35. My wife, Elizabeth, was gone because of a car accident, and I was left a widower. Five years of marriage had disappeared in a heartbeat, and the thought of it made it hard to breathe. I was in a hotel, thousands of miles away, when it happened. By the time I got the news, it was too late—I couldn’t even make it to her funeral. My mother-in-law called me in tears. Through the sobs, she told me how my two

Christmas Eve had always smelled like cinnamon and pine needles to me. But that night, all I could smell was cardboard, dust, and the faint chill of the basement. My hands were scratched and raw from digging through old moving boxes, searching for the box that held the ornaments Mark and I had collected during our first year of marriage. The dim light bulb swung slightly overhead, casting long shadows that turned the stacks of boxes into little cities of cardboard skyscrapers. “Mommy, can I put the star on top?”