The abandoned house sat still beneath a light frost. In my mind, I could see reindeer curled in blankets that smelled like our laundry, Santa easing into a sensible sedan for a few blocks, grateful for the rest.
For years, I thought my job was to create Christmas magic for my child. This year, she wrote her own story—a midnight mission powered by compassion, a belief so strong it sent her into the cold to care for creatures she loved simply because she believed in them. She reminded me that the real magic doesn’t come from lights or presents. It comes from kindness.
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