A Christmas Visitor

“A Christmas Visitor”. By Edward J. McCoul

Anna Weston loved Christmas, or at least she used to. Growing up, it was her favorite season—the lights, the music, the cozy traditions. But the past few years had dimmed her joy. Losing her husband two Christmases ago had left her reeling, and the holiday now seemed hollow, an echo of happier times.

This year, Anna had gone through the motions: she’d set out a few decorations, strung up some lights, and even put up a small tree in the corner of her apartment. But the effort felt forced, her heart heavy with memories. She sighed as she stirred a pot of soup on the stove, alone in her kitchen on Christmas Eve.

That’s when she heard the knock on her door.

Anna frowned. She wasn’t expecting anyone, and most of her neighbors had already left to spend the holiday with family. She hesitated, then put down her spoon and made her way to the door, opening it just a crack.

Outside stood a young girl, no more than ten or eleven, bundled up in an oversized coat and clutching a plastic grocery bag in one hand. She had wide brown eyes that sparkled with curiosity, her cheeks pink from the cold.

“Hello?” Anna asked, her voice cautious but kind.

“Hi!” the girl chirped, her voice bright against the evening’s quiet. “I’m Lily. I live down the hall. I was wondering if you wanted some cookies.”

Anna blinked in surprise, glancing down at the bag. Inside were a few gingerbread cookies, misshapen and covered in thick, uneven icing.

“Oh, that’s very sweet of you,” Anna replied, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Did you make them yourself?”

Lily nodded proudly. “Yep! My mom showed me how. I saved the best ones for you.”

Anna felt her heart soften, the girl’s enthusiasm warming her more than she’d expected. “Thank you, Lily. Why don’t you come in for a minute? It’s awfully cold out there.”

Lily’s face lit up as she stepped inside, her eyes widening as she took in Anna’s small but cozy apartment. Anna offered her a seat at the kitchen table, then poured two mugs of hot cocoa, setting one down in front of her unexpected guest.

“So, what’s bringing you around to your neighbors with cookies on Christmas Eve?” Anna asked, settling into a chair across from her.

“Well,” Lily said, taking a careful sip of her cocoa, “my mom said Christmas is about giving, so I thought I’d give cookies to everyone who looked a little lonely.”

Anna’s heart gave a pang. She hadn’t realized anyone had noticed how quiet her life had become, how much she missed her husband’s laughter and warmth during the holidays. She cleared her throat, trying to keep her voice steady.

“That’s a very thoughtful thing to do, Lily. It sounds like your mom has taught you well.”

Lily beamed. “She says it’s the little things that make people happy. Like how we always light a candle for my dad on Christmas.”

Anna looked at her, surprised. “Your dad?”

“He passed away when I was little,” Lily said matter-of-factly, though her expression softened. “Mom says he’s always with us in spirit, especially at Christmas. She says that’s why we celebrate—to remember that love doesn’t go away, even when people do.”

Anna felt a lump rise in her throat, the girl’s words touching her deeply. She’d spent so much time dwelling on her loss that she’d nearly forgotten what it meant to truly remember—to honor the love that remained instead of focusing on the emptiness.

Lily glanced around the room, her gaze landing on the small tree in the corner. “Your decorations are so pretty,” she said, her eyes lighting up. “It looks like you have your own little piece of Christmas right here.”

Anna managed a smile, her heart feeling a bit lighter. “Thank you, dear. I didn’t put much up this year, but I suppose it does the job.”

Lily thought for a moment, then brightened. “Do you have any ornaments from your husband? Maybe we could put one up together.”

Anna’s eyes widened. She hadn’t thought about adding anything more to the tree, but as she looked at Lily’s hopeful expression, she felt something stir within her—a flicker of warmth, a small desire to share in this moment.

“Well,” Anna said slowly, rising from her chair, “I think I might have something in the back closet.”

She moved to the hall closet, pulling out an old cardboard box labeled Christmas. She hadn’t opened it in years. Gently, she lifted the lid, sifting through the tissue paper until she found a small, silver star ornament. She held it out for Lily to see, her voice soft.

“This was one of my husband’s favorites. He used to say it was the brightest star, just like the one that led the Wise Men.”

Lily’s eyes sparkled. “Can we put it on the tree together?”

Anna nodded, feeling a strange sense of peace settle over her. Together, they hung the star on the highest branch, Lily standing on a chair to reach. When they stepped back to admire it, Anna felt a wave of gratitude wash over her, the tree shining a little brighter with the silver star twinkling from its place.

As they returned to the kitchen, Lily looked up at her with a smile. “Do you ever sing Christmas songs?”

“Oh, I haven’t sung in a while,” Anna admitted, chuckling. “But I know a few.”

“Can we sing one?” Lily asked, her voice hopeful. “My mom says carols are the best way to feel Christmas in your heart.”

Anna hesitated, then nodded, her voice soft but steady. “How about Silent Night?”

Together, they began singing, their voices blending in the quiet room. Anna’s voice wavered at first, but as she sang, she felt her heart opening, her voice filling with warmth and love. Memories of past Christmases flooded back—her husband’s laughter, the warmth of family gatherings, the joy of simply being together.

By the time they reached the last verse, Anna felt tears prickling her eyes, but they weren’t tears of sadness. Instead, they were filled with gratitude, with the beauty of the moment she was sharing with this little girl who had somehow brought Christmas back into her heart.

When the song ended, Lily reached across the table, squeezing Anna’s hand. “Thank you, Ms. Anna. My mom always says that when we help each other, we’re never really alone.”

Anna felt a warmth spread through her chest, Lily’s small hand a comfort she hadn’t realized she needed. “You know, Lily, I think you’ve given me the best Christmas gift I’ve had in a long time.”

Lily grinned, her eyes shining. “Merry Christmas, Ms. Anna.”

They spent the rest of the evening chatting, sharing stories, and sipping cocoa. Anna realized she hadn’t felt this alive in years, her heart lighter than it had been since her husband’s passing. Lily’s visit was like a spark, reigniting her hope and filling her with a renewed sense of purpose.

When it was time for Lily to go, Anna hugged her tightly, the gratitude in her heart too big for words. She watched as Lily skipped down the hall, her laughter echoing back to Anna, filling her small apartment with joy.

As Anna closed the door, she looked back at the tree, the silver star twinkling like a beacon of hope. She knew this Christmas would be different—a time of renewal, a reminder that love remained, just as Lily had said.

That night, as Anna lay in bed, she felt a quiet peace, the kind she hadn’t felt in years. She knew she’d never forget this Christmas, nor the little girl who’d shown her that the true spirit of the season wasn’t in decorations or gifts, but in the love we share with others.

For the first time in a long time, Anna felt ready to start anew, her heart filled with gratitude and hope for the future.