A Letter to Father Christmas and the Gift of Fate
Thomas stepped into the lift, unaware that an ordinary ride would turn into an encounter that would redefine his winter. In the corner stood a young woman in a grey coat, holding the hand of a girl no older than five. The child fixed Thomas with her wide, bright blue eyes before suddenly breaking into a gap-toothed grin.
“Are you going to work?” she asked, blissfully unaware of social niceties.
“Sophie, we say ‘you’ to strangers,” her mother corrected gently, offering Thomas an apologetic smile.
He grinned back and nodded.
“Yes, off to the office.”
“Have you written your letter to Father Christmas yet?”
He chuckled. Even as a boy, he’d never believed in such tales, but he wouldn’t spoil it for her. Proudly, she thrust a crumpled piece of card into his hands. He absently tucked it into his coat pocket, bid them farewell, and stepped out into the cold.
All day, Thomas tried to shake off the memory—buried himself in work, forced thoughts of his ex-fiancée from his mind. She’d called off the wedding at the last moment. He’d moved cities to start anew, but the quiet of his flat couldn’t drown out the ache.
That evening, walking through snow-dusted streets, he remembered the card. Fishing it out, he read the scrawled child’s handwriting: *”Be happy and never sad!”* Warmth flickered in his chest. He propped it on the shelf where he’d see it every day.
Two days before Christmas, he rang his landlord to ask after the little girl. Mrs. Whitmore happily shared that Sophie and her mum, Emily, lived just one floor above.
That night, he knocked on their door. Emily froze in surprise.
“Sorry,” he stammered, “I came to see Sophie. Thing is, Father Christmas sent me. He’s visiting our office and asked me to deliver a letter to a girl named Sophie—personally.”
The child bolted from behind her mother.
“I *knew* he’d send you! Wait, I’ll get it!”
She returned clutching a large envelope adorned with snowflakes and hearts, boldly labelled: *”To Father Christmas—HAND DELIVER!”*
“Don’t show Mummy! Or the wish won’t come true!”
“Promise it’ll reach him,” Thomas said, smiling.
At home, he couldn’t resist opening it. *”Dear Father Christmas, my name is Sophie. 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, he stood at their door again. Emily gasped—there he was, holding an enormous pink bear.
“Father Christmas asked me to give this to a very good girl named Sophie,” he said.
Sophie shrieked with joy, hugging first her mum, then Thomas.
Emily invited him to stay. At the table, Sophie suddenly piped up,
“What about my *other* wish?”
“The second one’s… tricky,” Thomas hedged.
“What else did you ask for?” Emily asked carefully.
“A new daddy. But if he’s run out, maybe *you* could stay?”
Sophie yawned, snuggling into her bear.
The two adults sat in silence, picking at their sprouts, cheeks flushed, lips twitching. Outside, snow blanketed the street, soft and quiet, but inside, for the first time in years, the air hummed with warmth.
