The Letter to Father Christmas and a Twist of Fate
Thomas stepped into the lift, unaware that an ordinary ride would turn into an encounter that would change his winter. In the corner stood a young woman in a grey coat, holding the hand of a girl around five years old. The child stared at Thomas with wide blue eyes before suddenly flashing him a bright grin.
“Are you going to work?” she asked without hesitation.
“Emily, we say ‘you’ to strangers,” her mother gently corrected, offering Thomas an apologetic smile.
He smiled back and nodded.
“Yes, heading to the office.”
“Have you written your letter to Father Christmas yet?”
He chuckled. He hadn’t believed in those fairy tales even as a child, but he wouldn’t crush her hopes. Proudly, she handed him a crumpled card. Absently, he tucked it into his pocket before stepping out into the cold.
All day, Thomas tried to forget the encounter—burying himself in work, pushing away thoughts of his ex-fiancée, who had called off their wedding at the last minute. He’d moved to a new city to start fresh, yet the quiet of his flat couldn’t drown the loneliness.
That evening, walking through snow-lined streets, he remembered the card. Pulling it out, he read the childish scrawl: *”Be happy always and never be sad!”* A warmth spread through him. He placed it on his shelf—somewhere he’d see it every day.
A few days before Christmas, he rang his landlady to ask about the girl. Mrs. Henderson happily explained—mother and daughter lived just upstairs, and the mother’s name was Catherine.
That night, Thomas knocked on their door. Catherine froze in surprise.
“Sorry,” he began awkwardly, “I came to see Emily. Thing is, Father Christmas stopped by our office. He asked me to find a girl named Emily and deliver her letter personally.”
The girl instantly darted from behind her mother.
“I knew he’d send you! Wait here!”
She returned moments later with a large envelope, decorated with snowflakes and hearts. Scrawled across it: *”For Father Christmas’s hands only!”*
“Don’t show Mummy—or my wish won’t come true!”
“I promise it’ll reach him,” Thomas said, smiling.
At home, curiosity won. Inside, he found: *”Dear Father Christmas, my name’s Emily. I’ve been good. Please bring me a big teddy. And… a new daddy. Because I don’t have anyone.”*
On New Year’s Eve, Thomas stood at their door again. Catherine gaped—there he was, holding a giant pink bear.
“Father Christmas asked me to bring this for Emily,” he said.
She shrieked with joy, hugging first the bear, then her mother, then Thomas.
Catherine invited him to stay. At the table, Emily suddenly asked,
“What about my second wish?”
“That one’s… trickier,” Thomas hedged.
“What did you wish for?” Catherine asked carefully.
“I asked Father Christmas for a new daddy. But if he’s short on daddies right now… maybe you could stay?”
Emily yawned and dozed off, clutching her bear.
The two adults sat silently, picking at their food, blushing and smiling. Snow settled softly outside, and for the first time in years, the flat felt truly warm.
Sometimes, the best gifts aren’t the ones wrapped in paper—but the ones we dare to hope for.
