The fireplace crackled from the logs burning in it, bringing comfort and warmth into the house, warming not only the body but also the soul. Snow was swirling outside the window, covering the visible expanse with a white veil, which made it difficult to see anything, and the old radio on the table was quietly playing Christmas songs.

You were sitting relaxed and reading a book in an old upholstered chair, listening to what your son was doing. Nero decorated the lower part of the Christmas tree, as he could not reach the upper branches due to his height. No matter how many times you asked him to put a chair down, he kept saying that it would be easier if you picked him up in your arms. You guessed that the request to take him in your arms did not come at all because of the problem with the Christmas tree, but you did not show it.

The boy constantly frowned and snorted with his nose when he did not like the location of the decoration on the fir tree. His white hair, the color of which could be compared to the soft snowdrifts that do not appear in Fortuna every winter, was disheveled from his full involvement in the process. With his little hands on his hips, Nero looked critically at his work, but smiled, satisfied, turning his face to you.

“Mom, look how beautiful it is! Do you like?”