It was a calendar reminder from my credit union’s mobile app about an upcoming automatic transfer scheduled for midnight on December twenty-fifth.

The white text on the glowing dashboard screen showed the pending nine-hundred-forty-dollar transfer headed straight to Margaret’s mortgage account.

By eight o’clock on Christmas morning, the light outside our kitchen window was a dull gray.

Snow blanketed the deck table and the four patio chairs.

I sat at the wooden kitchen table with a white ceramic mug of black coffee.

My laptop was open on the placemat in front of me.