Page 137 of Before I Loved You

I wrap the blanket tighter around my shoulders, suddenly feeling colder than I was just a minute ago.

“Santa told me you’ve had a tough couple of years.” He frowns, leaning back. “Is that true?”

“I…I lost both of my parents.” I wipe my eyes. “And I don’t have anyone else.” I shrug, trying to feign indifference and act brave in front of this stranger when I feel ready to fall to pieces.

“I’m sorry.” He looks up at the ceiling. “I have three sons running around here somewhere, and they’re the joy of my life. I can’t imagine how I would feel if I lost one of them.”

I look down at my lap. “It’s my first Christmas without them,” I whisper. Glancing at the bag, I shake my head. “There’s nothing in that bag that will make things better.”

He pushes the bag a little closer toward me.

“Doesn’t hurt to see,” he adds with a slight shrug.

“I don’t believe in Santa, anyway.”

“Don’t believe?” he ponders. “Hmm, that’s interesting.”

“What’s interesting about that?”

“Well, if he’s not real, how would I know what you asked for in your letter to him?”

My lips part in shock. “He told you?”

“Think of me as one of his elves.”

“You’re too tall to be one of his elves.”

He chuckles. “Santa doesn’t discriminate. Besides, he needs someone to reach all the high places on his Christmas tree and change the light bulbs.”

An unfamiliar sound slips from my lips: laughter. Quickly, I cover my mouth with my hand, alarmed by my reaction.

I can’t remember the last time I laughed.

The man watches me, tilting his head to the side. “It’s okay to laugh, sweet girl.”

I shake my head. “I don’t think it is.”

He turns, facing me. “Without laughter, we only have silence.” He picks up the bag, handing it to me. “We need laughter to make the days better. No matter how hard things may be, we must remember never to give up. And laughter, well, it keeps us going. It gives us something to live for.”

I hesitantly take the bag from his hand and reach inside, beneath the tissue paper. My fingers grip something soft and pull it out, tissue paper falling around me, revealing a teddy bear.

“When Santa told me that all you wanted for Christmas was a hug, well…” He clears his throat. “We just knew this guy would be perfect for you.”

I brush my fingers over the bear’s beige face, admiring the big, round brown eyes. He’s smiling, wearing a big pink bow around his neck.

“He’s perfect,” I admit softly, admiring him.

Cautiously, I bring him to my chest, and then, as though everything has snapped into place, I clutch him in my arms, closing my eyes. Tears run down my cheeks like rampant rivers. It’s the first time I’ve hugged anyone, well, anything, since my parents’ deaths.

“Oh, sweet girl.” I look up, finding the man with a tear flowing down his cheek, making no move to wipe it away. “Is it okay if I hug you?”

I nod because this man seems to need a hug as much as I do. And as his arms gently wrap around me, I find myself leaping into his embrace, burying my face into his chest, crying harder than I have in my entire life.

His hand softly brushes over the top of my head. “Let it out.”

And I do.

Minutes go by, the man not saying anything as I break down in his arms, missing my parents so unbelievably much.

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