**Diary Entry**
The house feels emptier these days. No carolers come by anymorenot like when I was young. The village children run to houses where theyll get a pound coin instead of a dry biscuit. Even my homemade gin doesnt tempt them. Only old Fred from next door stumbles in, drunk as a lord, when hes had one too many at the pub.
“Bless this house, for health and happiness, pour us a drink, Martha love!” hell slur, swaying on his feet.
I pour him one, take a sip myselfhelps me sleep. If only Fred had a thought in his head beyond the next drink. But no, he always finds the sorest spot to poke.
“Here we are, Martha, two old stumps in the woods. No one left to miss us, eh? But youyouve got your girl!”
“Drink your gin and shut your trap, Fred! Ive got a daughter, havent I? Shes out there somewhere!” I snap, shoving him toward the door.
He doesnt leave, just leers at me. “Oh, I know why youre cross. Everyone knows what you did. Gave your own grandson away. Aint that the truth? And the boy haunts your dreams, dont he? Thats why you keep a light on at nightyoure afraid!”
“Get out, you drunken fool!” I grab his greasy collar and toss him out like a stray cat.
He never came back after that. Maybe he was ashamed. Or scared. Truth cuts deep, and Fred had a knack for finding the wound.
The boy *does* visit my dreams. I never see his facejust his eyes, bright as candle flames. He stands at the door, asking to come in, but never steps over the threshold. Ive lost count of how many times Ive seen him. Or if its even a dream at all.
* * *
The sun was high when I realized Fred wouldnt show this year. Last years quarrel weighed on me. I poured myself a drinkholiday, after all.
Then the dog barked, the door creaked, and there stood a handsome young man.
“Happy Christmas. May I come in?”
I froze, then nodded. He stepped inside, scattering wheat for luck, but his eyes darted around the room. I tensedwas he a thief? If only Fred were here…
“You looking for someone?” I asked.
He smiled, pulling wine and sausage from his bag. “Thought Id bring my own. Care to share?”
Stunned, I dished up potatoes and bacon. Who was he? Too young to know my Lucy.
“Not from around here, are you?” I ventured.
“No. Are you Martha Wilson?”
“I am.”
“Your husband was Peter Wilson?”
“Was. Hes gone now.”
“And your daughterLucy Wilson?”
“Yes”
“Then Im your grandson. Victor.” He held out his hand. “Pleased to meet you.”
The room spun. Those eyesthe same as the boy in my dreams. I swayed, but he caught me.
“Dont be afraid. Im not here to blame you. Just wanted to see you. My real mother died recently. She told me everything before she went.”
I sobbed, spilling the story Id buried for years. He listened, never looking away. When I finished, he stood, sighed, and glanced around.
“God be with you. Hell judge younot me.”
Then he was gone. I ran outside, barefoot in the snow, but his car was already dusting away. No number plate, no clue where he lived. Just gone.
* * *
Lucy was an obedient girl.
“Youll be a teacher,” her father decided. “No marriage until youve finished school!”
She didnt argue, though her parents had already picked her a matchAndrew, a soldier. “Hell give you a good life,” her mother said. “A flat, a steady wage.”
Lucy fancied him, but he was older, rarely home. When he visited, girls flocked to him. Still, he chose her. “Wait for me,” he said. “Three years isnt long.”
She promised. But being a fiancée was harder than shed thought.
“Be discreet,” her mother warned. “Hold onto Andrew. Men like him dont come often.”
But Lucy grew restless. “Andrews far away. Hell never know.”
Then there was Willreckless, charming. No promises, just fun. Until she slipped, mentioning Andrew.
Will turned violent. She hid the bruises, but her mother guessed.
“Youre pregnant,” Martha hissed. “You cant marry Andrew now.”
Lucy was shipped off to another university, another city. When the time came, she “fell ill.” Her parents took her to a private hospital, where she stayed until the birth.
She never held the baby. Never even looked.
“Wills nothing but a brute,” she told herself. “Andrew would never forgive me.”
She kept writing letters to Andrew, sent to her parents address. When he returned, they married. Martha gloated.
But the lie festered. Peter drank himself into rages. “You threw away a child!” hed roar. “Youre no mother!”
Years passed. Lucy and Andrew grew distant.
“He wants children,” she confessed to Martha. “But I cant have any more. The doctors said after the birth.”
Martha paled. “He doesnt know why?”
“He will. He talks to the doctors. Hell make me confess.”
They divorced. Lucy drifted between men. Martha scolded her. “You ruined my life!” Lucy shouted. “Now Ill live as I please!”
Then she vanished. If Martha knew where she was, shed have told Victor. But she didnt.
* * *
Victor felt lighter, like a weight had lifted.
When his fathera surgeondied of a heart attack, Victor took his place at the clinic. “Youve got his hands, his heart,” colleagues said. He adored his parents.
Then his mother fell ill. Reviewing her medical records, he found the truth: shed had a hysterectomy years before his birth.
“Who am I?” he asked her.
With her last breaths, she told him. Gave him the address.
He waited months before going. Needed the right excuse to knock.
So he caroled.
And when he stepped inside, he *knew* that house. Had seen it in dreamsand the woman who matched the shadowy figure that haunted him. The one with no face, just glowing eyes.
Now he understood.
She was real.
And so was he.
