Chapter 10: The Letter from the Past
900 Words
Alina stayed up.
She wasn’t sure why.
She had spent years avoiding Christmas Eve—really avoiding it. It was always the hardest night of the year, the night that whispered old memories she would rather forget.
But something about Nicholas asking her to stay up… it felt different.
So she sat by the fireplace, her fingers curled around a mug of cocoa, staring at the flickering flames as the minutes passed.
The North Pole was quiet.
Nicholas was somewhere high above the clouds, delivering Christmas to the world.
And she was here, waiting for something she couldn’t quite name.
The letter arrived just before midnight.
Alina frowned when she saw it—a plain white envelope, resting on the arm of the couch as if it had appeared out of thin air.
She picked it up slowly, turning it over. There was no name, no sender. Just a single wax seal.
Her family’s crest.
Alina’s stomach dropped.
She hadn’t seen that seal in ten years.
Her hands shook slightly as she broke it open.
The parchment inside was crisp and formal, the ink dark and precise.
Alina,
It’s time to come home.
Father is ill. He doesn’t have much time. He wants to see you. We all do.
The past is behind us. Don’t be stubborn. Come back where you belong.
Before it’s too late.
- Mother
Alina’s breath caught in her throat.
She stared at the words, reading them over and over again, waiting for them to make sense.
But they didn’t.
They never would.
Because this—this was a game. A trap.
Her mother had never wanted her. None of them had.
She was the unwanted one, the accident, the burden. The one who had never belonged in that house.
But now, after all these years, they expected her to come running back just because her father was dying?
Alina clenched the letter so hard that the parchment crumpled in her fingers.
She should burn it. She should throw it into the fire and never think of it again.
But she didn’t.
Because deep down, beneath all the anger and resentment and pain, there was something worse.
Something she had spent years trying to bury.
The part of her that still wanted to be wanted.
Nicholas returned just before dawn.
The moment he stepped inside, his body exhausted from the long night, he saw her sitting in the same spot by the fire.
But something was wrong.
Her cocoa had gone cold.
Her face was pale.
And in her lap, she clutched a letter with shaking hands.
Nicholas frowned. “Alina?”
She flinched slightly at the sound of his voice, as if she hadn’t even realized he was there.
Nicholas’s frown deepened. He walked closer, lowering himself onto the couch beside her. “What is that?”
She hesitated. Then, slowly, she handed him the letter.
Nicholas took it, his jaw tightening as his eyes skimmed the words.
When he finished, he was silent.
The air between them felt thick, heavy with something unspoken.
Finally, Alina let out a hollow laugh. “They want me to come back.”
Nicholas studied her carefully. “Do you want to?”
Alina exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “I don’t know.”
She pressed her fingers against her temples, as if trying to push the thoughts away. “I spent my entire childhood trying to be good enough for them. But it was never enough. I was just… in the way.”
Nicholas clenched his fists. “They treated you like that?”
Alina let out another bitter laugh. “You don’t understand, Nicholas. It wasn’t just words. It was—”
She stopped.
Her breathing was uneven now, her hands gripping the fabric of her dress.
Nicholas’s chest tightened.
He had seen pain before. He had seen it in the eyes of children who asked Santa for things that couldn’t be wrapped in a box—things like a warm home, or a family that loved them.
But this?
This was different.
This was Alina.
And suddenly, for the first time, Nicholas felt helpless.
He wanted to say something, but what was there to say?
So instead, he did something else.
He reached for her hand.
Not because he was trying to fix things.
Not because he had the right words.
But because he wanted her to know she wasn’t alone.
Alina blinked, startled by the touch.
She looked down at their hands, at his strong fingers curled around hers.
Then, slowly, her shoulders relaxed.
Her grip tightened around his—just slightly, just enough for him to know that she needed this.
Needed him.
Nicholas exhaled. “You don’t have to go.”
Alina let out a shaky breath. “And if I don’t?”
“Then you don’t,” he said simply. “No one controls you anymore, Alina. Not them. Not anyone.”
She stared at him, something unreadable in her eyes.
For a long time, neither of them spoke.
Then, finally, she whispered, “Thank you.”
Nicholas squeezed her hand gently.
He didn’t know what he was doing.
He didn’t know what he was feeling.
But he knew one thing.
He wasn’t letting her go.
Not now.
Not ever.
- Writer
