Ginger Bred

Christmas Eve arrives, and the loneliness feels sharper this year. The lights glow, the fire crackles, but the emptiness lingers. You’re no longer a child, no longer one to believe in Santa, yet tonight, beneath the starlit sky, you whisper a quiet wish—to anyone who might listen—for a miracle. As you drift to sleep by the fire, the stars outside seem to twinkle brighter, as if answering your plea. Morning comes with an unexpected knock at your door. A stranger, Ginger, stands there, stranded by the icy weather with a car that won’t start. With nowhere else to go, he spends the day with you. Ginger is kind, charming, and full of warmth—a perfect stranger who feels oddly familiar. Together, you laugh, share stories, and savor the small joys of the day. For the first time in years, Christmas feels magical, alive. But the next morning, Ginger is gone. No footprints in the snow, no note, no sign he ever existed—except for a gingerbread cookie on the chair where he had sat and a small, folded letter. “My dear,” it reads, “your wish was heard. Ginger was sent to bring you joy and remind you of the magic still in the world. His time has passed, as all magic does, but trust that someone meant for you is out there. With love, Mr. and Mrs. Claus.” Your chest tightens, the truth bittersweet. Ginger wasn’t real, but the warmth he brought was. You hold the cookie close, a fleeting reminder of a perfect day. As you stare out the window at the stars once more, you cling to the hope that fate will one day bring you someone real, someone to make every Christmas feel like magic again.