Page 12 of Chloe

As the performance reaches its climax, with the wise men bearing gifts, I blink back unexpected tears. The simple beauty of the scene, the palpable sense of community spirit—it’s all so far removed from the world I’ve built for myself, and yet... it feels like coming home.

The last notes of “Joy to the World” fade away, replaced by the sound of applause and cheerful chatter as the crowd disperses. I stand rooted to the spot, overwhelmed by emotions I’m not sure how to process.

Rebecca touches my arm gently. “Are you okay, Chloe?”

I nod, not trusting my voice. As we walk back towards my grandmother’s house, the cold air helps clear my head a little.

“It was... nice,” I finally manage, knowing the word is woefully inadequate to describe what I’ve just experienced.

Rebecca smiles knowingly. “It’s more than nice, isn’t it? It’s a reminder of what Christmas is really about—love, community, giving.”

I nod again, my mind whirling. Everything I’ve seen tonight goes against the carefully constructed worldview I’ve built over the years. That true wealth might be measured in relationships rather than dollars, that vulnerability could be a strength rather than a weakness—it’s all so foreign, and yet... oddly appealing.

As we reach my front porch, Rebecca turns to me. “So, are you still planning to leave tomorrow?”

I hesitate, my earlier determination wavering. “I... I’m not sure. I need to think about some things.”

Rebecca’s smile is warm and understanding. “That’s okay. Sometimes the best decisions come after a good night’s sleep. Whatever you choose, Chloe, just know that you have a place here in Benton Falls, if you want it.”

With a final goodnight, Rebecca heads off into the snowy night, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I unlock the door and step inside. The warmth of the house wraps around me like a hug.

After I hang up my coat, my eyes fall on a framed photo of my grandmother that I hadn’t really noticed before. She’s standing in front of Hanks’ Department Store, her arms full of gift-wrapped packages, her face alight with joy. The sight stirs something deep inside me, a longing for connection that I’ve kept buried for far too long.

I sink onto the couch, my head in my hands. The walls I’ve built around my heart, the ones I was so determined to reinforce just hours ago, suddenly feel more like a prison than a protection. But the thought of tearing them down, of allowing myself to care, to be vulnerable—it’s terrifying.

As I sit there, wrestling with my conflicting emotions, a soft ‘ping’ from my phone catches my attention. It’s an email notification from a client—followed by another gently worded reminder from my board of directors that they’ve got things covered. I’m not so sure. My company is the only thing I’ve got.

The familiar pull of duty and ambition tugs at me, offering the comforting familiarity of spreadsheets and profit margins. It would be so easy to go back, to insist I only needed a few days to unwind, leave Benton Falls and it’s unsettling influence behind.

But as I reach for my phone, my eyes once again fall on the photo of my grandmother. I remember her words about the true meaning of Christmas, about the importance of giving. I think about Oliver’s dedication to his store and his community, about the way the townspeople came together at the nativity scene.

With a deep breath, I make a decision. I won’t book a flight—not yet. I’ll give Benton Falls one more day.

Lying in bed, I stare up at the ceiling, my mind replaying scenes from the evening—the gentle lowing of the cattle in the manger, the look of wonder on children’s faces, the warmth in Oliver’s eyes as he caught sight of me in the crowd.

For the first time in years, I allow myself to imagine a different life. One where I have family and friends who love me, one where success is measured not just in dollars and cents, but in the strength of relationships and the impact on a community.

As I drift off to sleep, the last thing I see in my mind’s eye is the nativity scene, bathed in gentle light. But now, instead of being a mere observer, I see myself as part of it—not playing a role, but simply being present, connected, belonging.

It’s been a while since I’ve felt like I’ve belonged to anything but my company in a long time.

Six

REBECCA

The frosty December air bites at my cheeks as I stand on Chloe’s porch, my hand poised to knock. Even though I don’t actually feel cold (perks of being an angel-in-training), I pull my coat tighter around me, trying to look as human as possible. The scent of pine and orange wafts from a nearby wreath, mingling with the earthier smell of wood smoke from the chimney. It’s so different from the perpetual perfection of heaven’s atmosphere—a bit messy, sure, but undeniably alive.

Taking a deep breath, I plaster on my best “friendly neighbor” smile and knock on the door. It’s December 9th and there isn’t time to waste if I plan on completing my assignment by Christmas Eve. Gratefully, Chloe hasn’t mentioned leaving since Sunday—crisis averted—and it’s time to move forward.

After a moment, I hear footsteps approaching, and then the door swings open to reveal Chloe. Her dark hair is perfectly styled, and she’s wearing a designer sweater that probably costs more than most people’s entire wardrobes.

“Rebecca,” she says, surprise and a hint of wariness in her voice. “What are you doing here?”

I beam at her, channeling all the Christmas cheer I can muster. “I’m here to escort you to the community caroling night.”

Chloe’s eyebrow arches skeptically. “I don’t recall agreeing to attend any caroling night.”

“Oh, come on,” I wheedle, trying not to let my desperation show. “It’s a Benton Falls tradition. You can’t spend Christmas here without experiencing it at least once.”

---