**December 31st**
It’s been over a year since Catherine started seeing Max. Their dates were so rare they could’ve been circled in red on the calendar, like bank holidays. He lived in Manchester, only travelling to this sleepy town near Leeds for work. They’d made grand plans—tonight, New Year’s Eve, was supposed to be the night they decided who’d move where. Then the phone rang. Catherine flinched—Max’s name flashed on the screen.
“Hello, darling,” she said, forcing warmth into her voice despite the chaos of the day.
But a sharp, unfamiliar voice cut through: “Well, hello there, homewrecker!”
Catherine froze, speechless.
Everything had gone wrong today. That morning, her office called, demanding she sign a contract with overseas clients. No one cared about her salon appointment. While the managing director lounged on some beach, she muttered a few choice words, hailed a cab, and trudged to work.
Leaving the business district, she remembered the dress. Her friend Alice, who did alterations on the side, had taken it in—a dress meant for tonight that now hung like a sack. Catherine preferred to think she’d lost weight rather than admit the fabric was cheap. She dialled Alice.
“Alice, I’m so sorry—I completely forgot about the dress!”
“Where have you been? I’ve been calling for an hour!” Alice shouted over the noise of the train station.
“Our director happened,” Catherine sighed. “How’s the dress? Can I swing by?”
“Catherine, I’m sorry—we’re already at the station. Our train leaves in half an hour.”
She lowered the phone, hopes crumbling. *Fine. No dress, no hairdo, but it’s New Year’s. Max will be here soon. It’s not all bad.*
At twenty-six, Catherine was still a romantic, a believer in miracles. Even after today, she hoped the night might bring magic.
When her phone rang again, she startled, lost in thought. Max’s name appeared. She steadied herself.
“Hello, darling.”
“Well, hello, homewrecker!” The same icy voice. “Did you really think he’d leave his family for you? Forget his number—or you’ll regret it.”
The line went dead. Catherine’s mind reeled—the scarce visits, the silent weekends, Max’s odd slip-ups. It all made sense now. She stumbled to the bus stop, leaning against a lamppost, empty-eyed. *Homewrecker.* The word hit like a hammer. Her world had shattered in seconds.
“Are you alright, love?” A booming voice snapped her back. A man stood before her, bearded, in a red overcoat with a fur-trimmed hood.
“No,” she whispered, fighting tears. “And who are you?”
“Father Christmas, who else?” He grinned. “Come on, let’s get you in the car—you’ll catch your death!”
Before she could protest, he guided her to his car. As it pulled away, panic set in.
“Stop! Where are you taking me? Let me out!”
He pulled over, turning to her. “I just wanted to help. I was headed to a café—thought you could use a cuppa. You looked lost out there. It’s nearly New Year’s, and, well… I’m a bit of a Father Christmas, aren’t I?”
It was clumsy, but Catherine laughed—a sudden, unexpected release. The laugh washed away the day’s wreckage: the ruined dress, the cancelled salon, Max’s betrayal, this strange man in a costume.
“Sorry,” she managed between shaky breaths.
“Not to worry,” he said, smiling. “The old year’s taking all the rubbish with it. Things’ll turn around.” He sighed. “My best mate cancelled on me tonight. Fifteen years of tradition—gone. All because of his new wife.”
Something loosened in Catherine’s chest. Maybe it was the cold, maybe this odd encounter—but the weight lifted.
“Someone’s probably waiting for you,” he said, starting the engine. “Where to?”
“Nowhere,” she admitted with a sad smile. “Empty flat, no dress, no hairdo. Free as a bird. I don’t even know what to do.”
“Fancy ringing in the New Year together, then? I know a cosy spot—promises a bit of magic.”
“I don’t mind. Just need to change first,” she said. The thought of being alone tonight was unbearable.
At home, she swapped her damp clothes quickly, returning to the car with a quiet hope. Inside the café, twinkling with fairy lights, she finally took in her companion.
“Why the Father Christmas getup?” she asked, smiling.
“Ah, that’s a long, ridiculous story,” he chuckled, shedding the coat and beard. “I’m John, by the way.”
“Catherine,” she said, offering her hand. “Go on, then, John. I could use a laugh today.”
He ordered tea and began his tale. The conversation flowed, sorrow dissolving like snow in sunlight. Outside, fat flakes drifted down as midnight drew near.
The old year slipped away, taking the heartache with it. And the new one gave Catherine and John the first glimmer of something bright and real—a love story sparked under New Year’s lights.
Catherine knew it then: the miracle had come after all.
