For a moment, I couldn’t speak. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. I crossed the room in two steps and scooped her into my arms, holding her so tightly I could feel her heart racing against mine.
“You brilliant, ridiculous child,” I whispered into her hair.
We gathered her supplies and brought them home. She fell asleep almost instantly, utterly content, convinced she’d done something important. I watched her breathe for a long time, my fear slowly giving way to something softer and heavier—a kind of awe.
Morning came quietly.
Mya raced to the tree, still rubbing sleep from her eyes, and froze. A letter was tucked carefully into the branches, written in looping script. Santa thanked her for her kindness. He said the reindeer were very grateful—especially Vixen, who had loved the veggie sandwiches.
She gasped, clutching the letter to her chest like it was fragile and precious.
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