When I opened my eyes in the middle of Christmas night, the house felt strangely still. A tingling sense of unease crept over me. On a hunch, I tiptoed toward Mya’s room, where I expected to see my little girl sleeping soundly under her cozy blankets. Instead, I found her bed empty and her covers tossed aside. That’s when I noticed my car keys were gone.
I’ve always thought of our family as a scene straight out of a Hallmark Christmas movie. My husband, Hayden, still slips sweet notes into my coffee mug—even after twelve years of marriage—and our daughter, Mya, has a kindness and curiosity that continuously fills our home with laughter and light. But nothing could have prepared me for the turn of events on this particular Christmas Eve.
I’ve always tried my best to make the holiday season magical for Mya. When she was five, I transformed our living room into a winter wonderland, complete with sparkling lights and pretend snow. She twirled around in her little slippers, her laughter echoing off the walls. Just last year, she led the neighborhood carolers in her favorite song, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. Afterward, she hugged me tight, her cheeks flushed from the cold.
“Mommy,” she whispered, “this is the best Christmas ever! Thank you for everything!”
Her words melted my heart. It reminded me why I love pouring all my energy into making the season special.
This year, Mya had endless questions about Christmas. A week ago, while hanging ornaments on the tree, she looked up at me with those big, inquisitive eyes.
“Mom, how do Santa’s reindeer fly all night without getting tired?” she asked, positioning a shiny bell.
“They’re magical reindeer, sweetheart,” I told her, adjusting a candy cane ornament. “Santa trains them really well.”
Mya frowned. “But don’t they need a break? Even magical reindeer have to rest sometimes.”
I smiled at her. “I’m sure Santa takes good care of them.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “He probably gives them snacks too, right? Everyone likes sandwiches! Maybe they need energy sandwiches!”
Christmas Eve itself was just as enchanting as always. Mya danced around in her new red dress under the twinkling lights, gasping at how our street looked like “stars had settled down to visit.” Our dinner was perfect—honey-glazed ham, creamy mashed potatoes, and Hayden’s famous green bean casserole. By the end of the evening, Mya was nodding off, but not before pleading to open just one gift early.
Hayden chuckled. “All gifts wait until morning. You know the rules.”
She pouted for a moment but soon yawned, too sleepy to argue. In her Rudolph pajamas, she murmured, “I love you, Mom. This is going to be the best Christmas ever.”
Around two in the morning, I woke up parched and headed to the kitchen for a glass of water. On my way back, I noticed Mya’s bedroom door was open. Confusion turned into alarm when I saw she wasn’t in her bed. My heart hammered in my chest.
“Mya?” I whispered, checking the bathroom and every other room in the house. Nothing.
I shook Hayden awake. “Get up! Mya’s gone!”
He bolted upright. “What do you mean gone? She’s got to be somewhere.”
I was near tears. “She’s not. And my car keys are missing, too.”
We tore through the house looking for her. Then Hayden called out, “Honey, come look at this!”
There, beneath the Christmas tree, tucked among the presents, was a note in Mya’s careful handwriting:
Dear Santa,
I know it’s hard for you and your reindeer to visit every child in the world in one night. They must be so tired! So, I thought I’d help.
When you come to our house, I’ve set up a resting spot for your reindeer in the empty house across the street. I brought blankets and sandwiches—Mom’s yummy chicken ones and some vegetable ones, just in case.
You can also use Mom’s car if the reindeer are too tired to keep going. Just return it before morning, please!
My eyes blurred with tears as I read the last line. Hayden and I shared a look, relief washing over us in waves.
Without hesitating, I threw on my coat and ran outside. In the yard of the abandoned house across the street, I found my daughter, huddled in her winter coat with a bag of sandwiches on her lap.
“Mya,” I said softly, kneeling beside her. “What in the world are you doing here?”
She beamed up at me. “I’m waiting for Santa! I want his reindeer to rest before they fly to other houses.”
My heart felt like it could burst with love—and maybe a hint of exasperation. Scooping her into my arms, I whispered, “Let’s go back home, sweetheart. The blankets will keep the reindeer warm without you standing guard.”
On Christmas morning, Mya dashed to the tree with the kind of giddy excitement only a child can possess. Her eyes went round as she noticed a note propped against her gift:
