16. Christian

SIXTEEN

CHRISTIAN

A vast emptiness had opened inside my chest. Like a black hole, it sucked in all that was good and bright in the world. Every trace of joy I’d ever felt was dragged into the point of singularity, never to be seen again.

As I walked home, unsure of everything in my life, the emptiness deepened. Dragging air into my lungs hurt. Blinking stung. Even my teeth hurt until I realized I had clenched them so hard that I was crushing them.

I walked faster and faster as a distant humming noise caught up with me. My skin prickled and burned, and the humming soon grew into a roar of wind and ocean waves.

My feet hurried. My legs burned with exertion, but I trudged on. I walked the long way around, not even taking all the right turns, passing through Santa’s Village when I should have been far away from it already. I walked in circles, steering clear of the White Elephant, the town hall, and Milo’s Jingle Bites. I passed by Nicholas Willoughby’s busy toy store. He had faced a huge company that wanted to buy his place, and he had prevailed, but it had been different. His own grandson, James, had been the force behind both the sale efforts and the rescue. Milo didn’t have allies who would save his little shop, and he didn’t have the customers to support him. And it broke my heart all over again to think how sad the ending would be. All his dreams, seemingly coming true, only to be snatched out of his reach.

A chocolate shop he loved and a boy he’d longed to be with, both taken away in a single, stupid night.

My heart wept.

It was easier to think of Milo and his losses. What I didn’t dare face—a truth that battered at the walls around my mind—were all the things I had lost tonight. Simply acknowledging them would tear me to pieces.

I had no life to look forward to. I had no goals, no hopes, no wishes. It suddenly felt like the most senseless prospect of all. A job? Was I leaving Milo for something as pointless as a job? My home. He had been my home.

This drive to go out and see the world and do these wonderful things in a sea of people I would never get to see twice seemed like a destructive force all of a sudden. Why couldn’t I just be happy? Why couldn’t this be enough?

For a moment, it had seemed so. It felt like it had been everything I’d ever needed.

But he was right. Every glimpse of a future I could envision was away from Christmas Falls, and Milo’s were here. He had been taken from this place too soon, destined to forever long to return here. And it would be silly vanity to think that he had only ever wanted to come back for me. His happiest days had been in this town with or without me.

And yours? Where were your happiest days? But I didn’t know how to answer this question. It was too scary and big for words. I was terrified of admitting that my happiest days were behind me. I always looked forward, ahead, to some distant horizon where things would finally be good.

The truth hit me squarely in the chest. My happiest days had ended tonight.

The cold night air lashed at my face as I continued walking, my breath clouding in front of me with every exhale. The rhythmic crunch of snow beneath my boots was the only sound accompanying the hollow drumbeat of my heart. My mind replayed the scene over and over, each moment sharper than the last, carving new wounds into my already battered soul. Milo’s face haunted me, his eyes brimming with emotions I couldn’t begin to untangle—disappointment, hurt, anger, and maybe worst of all, resignation.

It was the resignation that gutted me. The look that said he had expected this, had always expected me to falter, to let him down. And hadn’t I? Hadn’t I proven, yet again, that I was as unreliable as the snow that melted under the first hint of spring?

The streets of Christmas Falls, once brimming with charm and joy, now seemed foreign and unwelcoming. The twinkling lights strung across rooftops mocked me with their cheer, each flash and sparkle like a taunt: look how happy everyone else is . It was a lie, of course. Everyone had their burdens, but tonight, it felt like mine were heavier than anyone else’s.

I shoved my hands deeper into my pockets as though that could protect me from the icy tendrils creeping up my spine. The emptiness inside me was unbearable, a gnawing void that no amount of holiday cheer could fill.

Milo had always been the antidote to that emptiness. Even when we were kids, his laughter could chase away the darkest clouds. I could hear it now, in the recesses of my memory, as clear as if he were walking beside me. His infectious giggle when we used to race down the snowy hills. His quiet chuckle when he beat me at cards. His full-bellied laugh the first time I fell flat on my face trying to ice-skate.

I should have known back then.

You did know , a voice inside me whispered.

I clenched my fists against the thought, my nails biting into my palms. No. I hadn’t known. I couldn’t have.

But the truth was undeniable now. Milo had been my constant, my safe haven, the one person who could see through all my bravado and make me feel like I was enough. And I had thrown that away because I was too scared to face the possibility that I might actually deserve happiness.

The wind picked up, sending a flurry of snowflakes spiraling around me. They clung to my coat, my hair, my lashes, blurring the world in a haze of white. For a moment, I stood there, letting the cold seep into my bones.

It was better this way, I told myself.

But it wasn’t better. It was hell.

I resumed walking, slower now, my feet dragging as if weighted by the enormity of my mistakes. My mind drifted to the future, a bleak and featureless expanse stretching out before me. Every step forward felt like a step away from the life I had dreamed of—the life I could have had with Milo.

Would he ever forgive me? Would he give us a chance?

The thought of him moving on, finding someone else who wasn’t as selfish as me, was unbearable. But didn’t he deserve that? Someone who could give him the kind of love he had always given so freely?

And what about me? What did I deserve?

I had spent so much of my life chasing something I couldn’t even name—success, validation, a sense of belonging. But now, standing at the crossroads of my own making, I realized none of it mattered without Milo.

I passed by the small park where we had made snow angels as kids, before we discovered the undisturbed peace of Old Ridge Road, our laughter ringing out into the crisp winter air. The memory was so vivid it brought a lump to my throat. I could see us lying there, side by side, our arms and legs sweeping through the snow in perfect unison. It had been so simple back then, so easy to be happy.

I stopped at the park’s edge, staring at the empty expanse of snow. The urge to step into it, to lie down and carve out one last snow angel, was overwhelming. But I didn’t move. I couldn’t.

Instead, I turned and continued walking, my head bowed against the wind.

I found myself in front of my parents’ house, the familiar brick facade staring back at me like an old friend I no longer recognized. I hesitated on the steps, my hand hovering over the door handle.

Inside was warmth, comfort, and the illusion of normalcy. But it wasn’t home.

Home was a small studio beside a chocolate shop, cluttered with ribbons and calligraphy pens and the lingering scent of cocoa.

Home was wherever Milo was.

I closed my eyes, leaning against the doorframe as the truth washed over me.

I had left my heart behind tonight.

And I wasn’t sure if I would ever get it back.

My parents didn’t ask painful questions. They did, however, extend an unbearable amount of compassion that hurt nearly as much. For that reason, I remained in my childhood room for most of my time over the weekend.

My thoughts were haunted by Milo, but I didn’t do something foolish like going to him and making it all hurt more.

He had made up his mind. He had sent me on my way. He had said goodbye. And I couldn’t blame him. In the throes of pain over the inevitable loss of his shop, Milo had had to endure my misguided enthusiasm, and he learned where my ambitions were.

It was never supposed to be like this, but I had revealed my cards with the best intentions and to the worst results. I had revealed to him just how different our paths were, making him face that in the moment when he was the most vulnerable.

I deserved the solitary life that a job in New York City entailed. I deserved to go back to the struggles of daily life that I had been wishing for all my life. Me and my damned, bleeding heart.

The entire Monday passed in one long, protracted sigh. That was how time felt to me now. I spent my days thinking about the things we were supposed to be doing. Mulled wine at Kody’s on Saturday. Playing cards with increasingly naughtier stakes in Milo’s apartment on Sunday. The closing ceremony today.

The whole town would be there. Everyone wanted to attend, and Milo had been looking forward to it so much. He never took time off despite the fact there was little to do at the shop. He had been so happy to plan our outing tonight and to carve out some free time for himself.

Self-hatred erupted within me. He wouldn’t go. He wouldn’t get that because of me.

So, I spent my day holed up in my room. I’d eaten breakfast and forced myself to shower, but that was the end of my successes for the day. I remained in my bed, deaf to the rest of the house. It was almost like I didn’t exist. And that, in particular, felt good.

If I could somehow erase the entire history of myself, I would do it. Milo would be happier for it, I was sure. Everyone would be better off. I never would have dragged Laura to such a low point in her life that she would be desperate to leave our rotten relationship like it was a house on fire. And I never would have given Milo hope only to let my stupidity ruin it.

As the evening replaced the endless twilight hours of the winter days, my stomach rumbled out of habit. I couldn’t really feel hunger. Everything tasted like eating ash and dirt anyway. But the rumbling told me I needed to eat something, so I crossed the room and opened the door.

Mom had put some music on downstairs. It took me a moment to realize that it was an instrumental recording of “Silent Night.” It created a lump in my throat that was hard to swallow. I could barely breathe over it.

Part of me wanted to turn around and hide in my room again, but then the music stopped abruptly.

“Ah, darn,” Mom said. Something creaked, and the music began again from the start.

My heart rose. What on earth was going on? Was it really that?

I forced my feet to move down the stairs, bringing me into the open space of the ground floor. On the other end, by the Christmas tree, my mother sat with her face turned to the rest of the room. She sat straight, her hands slowly and carefully gliding along the black and white keys of our old piano.

She played the melody perfectly, cocking her head a few times as if in reproach.

Silent night, peaceful night,

Stars shine down, soft and bright,

Love is here, this holy morn,

Hope and joy in a Savior born,

Rest in heavenly peace,

Rest in heavenly peace.

I mouthed the words as tears streaked my cheeks. And then, just as suddenly as the little miracle had happened, my mother stopped. She turned her head over her shoulder and looked at me with grief making her eyes shine. “Oh, baby.”

“You’re playing the piano,” I whispered.

“I suppose I am,” she agreed, standing up from the little chair in front of the piano and closing the distance between us. She took me in her arms like I was a little boy and held me warmly. I had forgotten what comfort a mother’s hug could provide.

I rested my head on her shoulder and shook as a sob rose through my chest. “I ruined it,” I whispered.

She didn’t tell me to be quiet. She didn’t tell me to let it all out. She simply held me so that I could safely fall apart.

“I ruined everything,” I said, tears coming anew.

Mom rubbed my back. It felt as though she fixed everything broken in the universe when she did that. How had I forgotten what it felt like to be home?

“I…I love him,” I sobbed, holding my mom and trying not to cry. “I never told him that.”

“Do you really?” she asked softly, not at all skeptical.

“I love him so much,” I said without hesitating. “I always did. You were right. I loved him even then. I just didn’t know.”

Mom ran her hand down the back of my head and slowly pulled herself away from me. She looked into my eyes with that soft, ageless gaze. “If you do, then you didn’t ruin anything, baby.”

“But I did,” I insisted.

She shook her head. “That’s just not how things end, Christian. You’re both still here, and you shouldn’t quit without trying harder because Milo loves you, too. You know he does.”

I did. He’d never said the words, but I had felt loved more than ever in my life. And I loved him in return.

I wiped the tears out of my eyes and exhaled. Calm returned to me, and I looked at the sheet music on the piano. I didn’t want to tell my mother just how wrong she was. Despite loving me, Milo couldn’t give me his heart again. I had wasted that opportunity. And I was still drawn to running away and paying the price for all I’d done wrong.

“How come you’re playing again?” I asked, hoping to distract my mother from her attempts to lift my hopes up.

Mom hesitated as if reading my face and eyes for a few moments before biting the bait. “The strangest thing happened this morning,” she said.

I frowned. “What happened?”

“Do you remember Tony Eggert? I don’t suppose you do. While you and Milo were sneaking around the town, Tony came here to practice on our piano. It just sat there gathering dust, so I let him come and practice until his parents could afford to buy one. He teaches music now, you know. And this morning, he came here with sheet music and a smile on his face, saying he never forgot how kind we were to him. He said he remembered me talking about wanting to play but how I never got around to it. ‘Did you ever start practicing again, Mrs. Underwood?’ he asked, but I think he knew the answer because he planned to give me a few lessons. He even gave me a beautiful little note. See?”

Mom lifted an elegant envelope and handed it to me.

As I pulled the quality stock paper out of the envelope, my heart tripped. The handwriting was unmistakable, but the words were the final proof I needed.

Dear Joan,

A melody, once played, can always be heard again. The hands may falter, but the heart never forgets its rhythm. May this bring a little music back to your world.

—Secret Santa

“I need to see him,” I whispered urgently.

Mom cocked her head in bewilderment. “He’ll come tomorrow for another lesson.”

“Not Tony,” I said. My fingers ran over the elegant calligraphy. The constant clutter of inks and papers, the secret messages, the tiny, happy smiles, it all made sense now. How had I not realized this already? “This isn’t Tony’s note, Mom. It’s Secret Santa’s.” The mysterious person who had helped fill the arch at Remy’s diner and arranged birthday parties for elderly ladies, the person who had whispered to the town’s real Santa about the people who deserved to be on the nice list, the person who wanted to give so much to so many and never, ever ask for something in return… I looked at my mom and whispered, “This is Milo.”