Missing November

“Sarah… calm down,” Sarah’s mother said between sobs.
Sarah’s tear-stained face flushed red, her eyes bulging with grief.

“Sweetie, we’ll go through it…” Granny tried to comfort her with a hoarse and trembling voice.

“Go to bed, Sarah,” her mother demanded gently, picking herself up and helping Granny to her feet.  

Sarah’s mind was a blur of tears, sorrow, and tangled memories as she walked to the old mahogany trunk. Kneeling beside , her fingers traced the smoothness, the silence broken by a soft click of the lock.

Lifting the new, neatly ironed uniform, once worn by her father, she glanced at the other, dustier one. Grandpa’s.  

Sarah hugged dad’s uniform, pressing it to her chest as if the fabric itself could anchor her thoughts. Images flashed—holding her father’s hand, playing in the yard, and his last words:

“I’ll be back for Christmas.”

She shook herself as she picked the uniform up, and a mini calendar slipped from its pocket.

Picking it up, she read November. She flipped to December—and her breath caught , her father’s familiar handwriting.

“Go Home for Christmas.”

She slammed the trunk shut as her stomach turned in knots. Dragging herself, she collapsed into her bed. The night stretched endlessly—a battlefield of shadows and nightmares. Sarah tossed and turned, wrestling the villain : her own sorrow.

But just as her eyelids settled, the first ray of morning pierced her sleep.

“…Huh?”

Her ears pricked, as her eyes widened. Christmas carols, Laughter and Snow. It didn’t seem right.

“Sarah! Good morning!”

Her dad’s voice.

“Dad!” Sarah gasped. Throwing herself straight into his arms.
“You’re… back…” The words escaped her lips, between her wide smile.

But then—slowly—doubt seeped in.

Hadn’t they received a call?
one, that said her father had been martyred in November?

And… it looked like December.

Heart pounding. She dashed to the living room, tripping on the trunk midway. She hurriedly opened it and grabbed the calendar. It looked…. Odd. December….

Her eyes widened. ‘I NEVER want November back,’ she dug the calendar, deep below grandpa’s uniform, deep below her heart.