Christmas was supposed to be a time of **love, family, and remembrance.** But this year, it was a nightmare.
My brother and his wife, Vanessa, had **invited themselves** into our home because their heating system broke. I didn’t mind at first—we were family. But Vanessa? She treated my house like her personal playground.
She used **my** bathroom instead of the guest one, took **my** things without asking, and worst of all…
She **threw away our mother’s ashes.**
That beautiful vase, the one that **held everything we had left of Mom**, was gone.
I found out over breakfast.
**Me:** “Has anyone seen Mom?”
**Vanessa (rolling her eyes):** “Oh, I threw them out behind the house. That vase scared me to death every time I saw it!”
**Me:** “YOU DID WHAT?!”
My chair screeched against the floor as I shot up. I was ready to **lunge at her**, my hands shaking with rage. My husband and brother had to **hold me back.**
Mom’s final wish was to “**spend her first Christmas**” with us in the room as we celebrated. And this **heartless woman** had thrown her **away** like **trash.**
I ran to the backyard, **desperately** trying to collect whatever ashes I could. But the wind had already scattered them. I sobbed as I scraped the dirt, my hands trembling.
That night, I lay awake, **burning** with anger. I was ready to **kick her out**—Christmas or not.
And then… we heard it.
A **bloodcurdling scream** from upstairs.
We rushed to the guest room and found Vanessa **cowering in a corner, pale as a ghost.**
She pointed at the mirror. “S-she—she was there! I **saw** her!”
We turned, but there was nothing. Just our reflections.
But Vanessa? She was **shaking.**
“Mom… she was standing right behind me.”
I didn’t believe her at first. But then… the room **grew cold.** The air **shifted.** The feeling of **something watching us** was undeniable.
And then—**the vase was back.**
It sat **right there on the dresser.** Clean. **Unbroken.** Like it had never been missing.
Vanessa screamed again and **ran out of the house that night.** She and my brother never returned for Christmas.
And as I stared at the vase, I felt it.
A warmth.
A presence.
Mom was home.