Ben, my younger brother, lounges at the far end of the table in a white shirt and gray sweatpants. His dark hair is a mess as he scrolls on his phone. The faint smirk on his face tells me he’s probably sending memes to our cousins.
I sit beside Dad, the chair creaking softly under me. The scars on my arm peek out from under my sweater, a constant reminder of what I’ve overcome. I push the memories aside. Here, in this room, they don’t belong. It’s only a week until Christmas, and I want to focus my attention on my family. I don’t know when I’ll be able to come visit again.
Dad’s eyes sparkle as he turns to me. “Sophia,” he says, his voice warm. “Would you join me at the hospital today?”
Caught off guard, I try to buy some time to process his words. “Join you? At the hospital?”
He leans back in his chair. “The annual Christmas visit, remember? I’ll be dressing up as Santa and handing out toys to the kids. If you come, it’ll be just like old times.”
My heart gives a little tug.Just like old times. Flashes of those visits flood back—Dad in his red suit, his hearty laugh echoing through the pediatric ward as wide-eyed children gathered around him. I’d always tagged along, playing the part of his little helper, basking in the magic he created for those kids who needed it most. On the other hand, my personal experience with hospitals has left me with bitter memories.
“I don’t know…” I start, but my voice falters. The truth is, I do know. The thought of stepping back into a hospital, despite the hopeful faces of the children, is enough to stir the darkness in my mind. Something I’ve kept buried for far too long.
“Come on, Soph,” Ben pipes up, looking up from his phone. “It’ll be fun. Plus, you’ll get to wear one of those ridiculous elf hats.”
I roll my eyes, but the corners of my mouth twitch into a reluctant smile. “Fine,” I say with a chuckle. “But only if you promise not to take embarrassing pictures.”
Dad’s laughter, warm and rich, wraps around me.
Mom approaches me with a proud smile on her face. “That’s the spirit,” she says, sliding a plate of pancakes onto the table. “You’ll make those kids’ day, Sophia. Just like you used to.”
I nod, though my throat feels tight. It’s not just about the kids. It’s about the way Dad’s face lights up at the thought of spreading joy, the way Mom’s voice softens when she talks about those hospital visits. It’s about this family, this town, this home that I’ve been running from for so long. Maybe, just for today, I can stop running.
Later that morning, the sleigh bells on the door jingle as Mom opens it for us.
Dad pulls on his Santa hat; the red fabric is slightly faded but no less festive. He pats his round belly—a natural fit for the role—and grins at me. “Ready, elf?”
I snort, adjusting the green scarf around my neck. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
Ben hands me a box of toys with a smirk. “Don’t drop these, butterfingers.”
“Oh, please,” I shoot back, lifting the box with ease. “This arm could crush you in seconds.” I flex my prosthetic playfully, and Ben raises his hands in mock surrender.
“Okay, okay. No need to get violent.”
Dad chuckles, the sound spreading like a low rumble of thunder. “Enough bickering, you two. We’ve got some smiles to deliver.”
Mom waves us off from the porch, her hands wrapped around a steaming mug of cocoa. “Have fun!” she calls out, her voice carrying over the crunch of snow under our boots.
The walk to the car is brisk. The cold air bites at my cheeks, but I don’t mind. Dad’s excitement is infectious. As we load the toys into the back, I catch him glancing at me, a soft smile playing on his lips.
“What?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.
“Nothing,” he says, shaking his head. “Just glad you’re here.”
My chest tightens again, but I push the feeling down. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s just get this show going.”
As we drive through the snowy streets, the hospital looming ahead, I wonder if maybe this is exactly where I’m supposed to be.
The astringent smell of antiseptics overwhelms my senses as I glance around us. Christmas decorations cover every available surface, from paper snowflakes hanging from the ceiling to a life-size nutcracker guarding the entrance to the pediatric ward. Strings of multicolored lights crisscross the hallway above us, their cheerful glow a stark contrast to the pale green walls. The distant beeping of monitors sounds nothing like heartwarming Christmas songs.
Dad leads the way, his Santa costume rustling with each step. The kids waiting in the large activity room are already buzzing with excitement, their voices rising in a joyful hum that echoes down the corridor. I follow close behind, bracing a stack of brightly wrapped boxes that didn’t fit inside the humongous red sack Dad is carrying.
The doors to the room swing open, unveiling a festive Christmas wonderland. A massive tree dominates one corner, its branches heavy with oversized ornaments and blinking lights. Garland stretches across the walls, and the ceiling is strung with more lights, casting a warm, festive glow. Children sit in rows on the floor, candy canes in their hands, their wide eyes glued to the doorway as Dad steps in, his hearty “Ho, ho, ho!” booming like a bell.
I grin as the kids erupt into cheers, their excitement palpable. Dad plays the part effortlessly, his naturally white beard and twinkling eyes making him the perfect Santa. He sets the large sack of toys down with a theatrical grunt, earning a round of giggles.
“Merry Christmas, boys and girls!” he greets in a warm tone.
