Outside, the city is alive with color and noise. It's Christmas night, after all. People flood the sidewalks in scarves and coats, laughing and holding paper bags and gifts. Cars move bumper-to-bumper, headlights flickering like stars in motion.
I stop by a bakery that glows golden from the inside, busy with customers. After a short wait, I leave with a warm paper box of desserts: a slice of blueberry cheesecake, a chocolate muffin, a vanilla cupcake, red velvet cookies—all mom's favorites.
I remember back then dad scolded me and mom because we ate too many cakes in one go. But we just laughed it off and dad would rolled his eyes and paid for it eventually. I smile. Glory days.
I also get a small tiramisu cake for Noah, because something inside me says I need to bring back something good. I pick up a mochaccino too, extra whipped cream. Mom always loved the foam.
