As a single mom, I knew that Christmas was everything to my two boys, Ethan and Jake. They would start counting down the days starting in July, eagerly waiting for the holidays. While other families were planning summer vacations, I was busy stashing away bits of my paycheck to make sure we had a magical Christmas. And this year, after months of scrimping and saving, we finally had our dream Christmas tree – a glorious seven-foot fir adorned with twinkling lights and ornaments that held precious memories.
My heart was filled with joy as my eight-year-old, Ethan, burst through the door waving a paper snowflake he had made in art class. At its center was a photo of the three of us from a picnic last summer. My six-year-old, Jake, soon joined in, proudly showing off his silver-painted toilet paper roll masterpiece. As we hung their creations on the special branch of our tree, their eyes sparkled with pride.
We talked about how our tree was like a giant memory book, with each ornament telling our story. And my boys declared it to be the prettiest tree in the whole world, even better than the one at the mall. Our joy, however, was short-lived.
On Christmas Eve, our landlord, Mr. Bryant, showed up at our door. He barely glanced up from his screen as he sipped on his designer coffee and told us that our tree was a fire hazard and needed to be removed. Despite my attempts to explain, he dismissed me and left, leaving us with a truck that arrived an hour later to take our beloved tree away.
My boys were heartbroken, and their tears were like daggers to my heart. As we watched helplessly, the workers loaded our tree onto the truck, taking away all our cherished memories. That night, as I sat in our silent living room, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of anger and injustice.