Something strange happened when mum, Sophie and I came back from Biestro. As expected, the food there was great and the atmosphere in the restaurant was lovely. This year, there were a lot more people than I had expected. I thought people would want to spend Christmas in their homes with their families, but that wasn't the case. It was packed to the brim, so much so that the owner had to turn the sign over from 'Opened' to 'Closed' so people would get the memo that they aren't taking any more customers.
Anyways, we came back home and mum told me to go to the mailbox and get the mail, so I did. I started sorting them on the kitchen counter and I stumbled upon a red envelope with my name boldly written on it. I thought that was weird because I never get mail, at all, not even from relatives. Grandma Maggie, the only relative I'm close to at the moment, doesn't send me mails from the nursing home. She prefers to hand me her letters personally when I go to visit.
