I didn’t stop crying as I pulled on my coat and ran across the street. The old house had been empty for years, its porch sagging, yard overgrown. Behind the bushes, I saw a small shape wrapped in blankets. Mya looked up when she heard me, her cheeks pink from the cold, her eyes bright with purpose.
“Hi, Mommy,” she whispered. “I’m waiting for Santa. The reindeer can rest here.”
I gathered her into my arms, breathing her in, feeling the fear drain out of me and something else take its place. “You brilliant, ridiculous child,” I murmured. “Let’s go home.”
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