Santa, I have a wish!

Christmas has always been the one holiday where people are just a little kinder to each other. That one person in class you never really liked suddenly says “Merry Christmas” after class. The grumpy old man upstairs stops leaving angry notes about your loud singing in the shower. The tired cashier at the store smiles — maybe for the first time all year. I love the white snow covering everything like a blanket. The lights glowing from every window. The smell of pine trees and hot chocolate drifting through the streets. The sound of children laughing as they throw snow at each other. But now… Now I’m standing alone in a house full of boxes. And I can’t find anything. I start my new job tomorrow, and my work shoes are buried somewhere in this cardboard jungle. I’ve have already opened at least fifteen boxes — and somehow the only thing I’ve managed to find is sunscreen. Sunscreen. Five months too early to use it. But at least I know where it is. Moving is probably one of the hardest parts of life. At least, that’s how it feels right now. You have to start over. In a new place. With new people. You have to learn where everything is in the grocery store. Figure out which neighbor looks friendly and which one definitely isn’t. Try not to get lost on your own street. Everything takes time. Last night the moving company delivered the final load. They carried the boxes inside, smiled politely, and wished me Merry Christmas before driving away. Merry Christmas. They didn’t even see my kitchen. Just towers of boxes stacked like walls around me. Did they really think I would have a cozy Christmas here? Impossible. And then there’s the part I haven’t really let myself think about. I’m alone. I have never been alone at Christmas before. There are seven days until Christmas. My family is far away. Because I left. I moved out. I divorced my husband, Mark. Yes, terrible timing. Christmas around the corner. But the thought of sleeping one more night in that house made me physically sick. You want to know why? Last week, I decided to surprise him at work. I brought coffee and lunch — something sweet and thoughtful. We had been married for four years. We had even tried for children. It just never happened. When I walked into his office, it looked like he was alone. He wasn’t. His assistant was there. Under his desk. “Looking for something,” he said quickly when he saw me. Right. Maybe I should have asked if she was searching for his wedding ring. Instead, I turned around and walked out. I didn’t cry. Not there. I drove home. Packed everything I could fit into my car. And I left the same day. He was furious. I didn’t care. I quit my job at his company that afternoon. Used every vacation day I had left. And I moved. Later that night, while sitting in a motel parking lot, I found the listing. A small house for sale in a tiny town a few hours away. Perfect. Mark hates small towns. I packed my car so full it looked like it might explode. And when I finally arrived and opened the trunk — everything fell out. Clothes, shoes, bags — straight onto me. There I was. In my new driveway. Covered in my own wardrobe and heartbreak. I really hope no one saw that. The house, though… It was beautiful. Small. White. A little porch with a swing. A tiny garden in front. For the first time in days, I felt something close to peace. I unloaded everything that night. I wasn’t going back. The next morning, I woke up on the sofa. Horrible sofa. Absolutely terrible. That thing needs to go. A knock on the door woke me properly. The moving company, cheerful and efficient. Moving to a new city is strange. Moving to a new city alone — right before Christmas — is something else entirely. I needed food. Immediately. When I walked around the corner of the house, I discovered something unexpected. Just beyond a few trees, there it was. A small town square. Like something from a Christmas movie. Lights wrapped around lampposts. Garland in every window. Soft music drifting through the air. I bought groceries from the local market. Everyone was smiling. Curious. “You’ll be the talk of the town for a while,” one of the older women laughed as she handed me a bag of homemade cookies. They were delicious. Across the street stood a beautiful toy shop. The windows were filled with teddy bears, wooden trains, dolls, and shiny cars. And taped to the window was a handwritten sign: “We are looking for someone to make sure the toys don’t run out. Please call or come inside. – Karl.” I smiled. Why not? Inside, the shop felt magical. A tall Christmas tree stood in the corner, lights glowing warmly. Next to it was a red mailbox with a sign: “Send your wish directly to Santa.” Two little boys were carefully writing letters. One wished for a toy g*n. The other for a dog. They sealed the envelopes and wrote: “To Santa, The North Pole.” There was even a printed address on the wall to make sure it got “to the right place.” It was beautiful. In one corner of the shop, I saw something tall moving between the shelves. “Hello?” Please let him still be looking for someone. “HO HO HO! MERRY CHRISTMAS!” A tall, skinny man in a Santa suit appeared, nearly tripping over a large toy police car. “Hello, young lady. How can I help you?” “Are you Karl?” “Yes, I am,” he said with a warm smile. He smiled with his eyes. My grandfather used to say, “If you can’t see the smile in their eyes, it’s not real.” Karl’s smile reached his eyes. And suddenly, I felt safe. “I saw your sign,” I said. “I just moved into the house around the corner.” His eyes lit up. “Yes! I need someone. And you look exactly like the person I need.” “I have experience with—” He waved his hand. “No, no. I don’t care about that. Do you like kids?” “Yes. I love children.” “Can you count money?” I laughed. “Very fast.” “Perfect. You start tomorrow. And if you need help at the house, I can send my son over.” I couldn’t stop smiling. Maybe this town wasn’t just an escape. Maybe it was a beginning. Thank you, Santa. Maybe this year, you really did send me exactly what I needed.