I woke up on Christmas morning feeling an unfamiliar heaviness in my chest. Sitting on the couch, I glanced around our tiny living room, wondering if my choices were the right ones—questioning if I could give my children the life they deserved. The holiday spirit felt distant, drowned out by my worries about rent, groceries, and my girls’ happiness.
Our Christmas tree was a second-hand artificial one, thin and sparse. I’d tried my best, hanging mismatched ornaments and a single string of lights that flickered whenever someone shifted on the couch. My five-year-old triplets—Anna, Bella, and Cara—sat on the floor, giggling as they colored in the cheap little books I’d managed to buy. Their laughter was like a warm blanket around my heart.
Anna looked up from her coloring. “Mama! Look!” She held up a page where she’d drawn a horse with purple wings.
“That’s wonderful, sweetheart,” I said softly, trying to match her enthusiasm even though my chest felt tight. Christmas was supposed to be magical, but all I could see were the bills stacking up and the emptiness Chad—my ex-husband—had left behind when he moved to Canada six months ago. Between the sporadic child support and my dwindling savings, I could barely afford a simple meal for Christmas dinner.
Just then, the doorbell rang. I frowned, tugging my threadbare shawl closer around my shoulders. We never had unexpected visitors, let alone on Christmas morning. Peeking out the window, I saw no one.
“Who is it, Mama?” Cara asked, curiosity shining in her eyes.
“I’m not sure,” I answered, heading toward the door. “Stay here, girls.”
But as I opened the door, the street was completely empty—except for a large, neatly wrapped box on the doorstep, tied with a big green bow. Bewildered, I looked up and down the street again, but there wasn’t a soul in sight.
“Mama! Is that for us?” Bella asked, Anna and Cara gathering around me.
“I don’t know, baby,” I said, lifting the box inside. It was heavier than it looked, and my heart pounded with a mix of excitement and uncertainty. The girls bounced on their toes, pleading to open it.
I set it down on the living room floor and slowly undid the ribbon, peeling away the red wrapping paper. Inside were two neat stacks of cash, an assortment of fancy chocolates and biscuits, and three Christmas stockings stuffed full. My eyes immediately brimmed with tears. Lying on top was a plain white envelope with my name on it.
“Mama, why are you crying?” Cara asked, tugging on my sleeve. “Are you hurt?”
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