9. Sophia
9
SOPHIA
T he aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingles with the sweetness of maple syrup, filling the air of my parents' kitchen. Sunlight streams through the large windows, turning the snow-covered world outside into a dazzling sea of white. The dining room, cozy and familiar, feels like a warm cocoon against the chill beyond the glass, while the eventful evening of my sister’s wedding seems like a lifetime ago instead of only two nights.
Struggling to banish the images of Ray coming undone in that storage room, I focus on the people around me. My dad sits at the head of the table, his silver hair catching the morning light, his face a perfect blend of timeless kindness and quiet strength. Mom flits around the kitchen like a snowflake in motion. Not a strand of her short, auburn hair gets out of place despite the bustle. She’s humming a cheerful Christmas carol while flipping pancakes on the stove. The golden edges sizzle on the griddle, matching the warm wood tones of the cabinets and ceiling. It’s a scene I’ve missed more than I’ll admit out loud, even to myself.
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.
L ater 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.
T he 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.
The joy on the kids’ faces and their laughter fill my heart with tenderness. For a moment, I forget about the scars hidden under my sweater, the darkness that’s been clinging to me like a shadow. Today is all about light and love.
“Alright, elf,” Dad calls over his shoulder, breaking me out of my thoughts. “Let’s get these gifts sorted.”
I set the boxes down under the tree and kneel on the soft carpet, organizing them by size and shape. The wrapping paper crinkles under my fingers, the bright reds and greens reflecting the cold fluorescent lights above. I can feel the kids’ eyes on me, their curiosity palpable as they wait for their turn to receive a piece of Christmas magic.
“Is that your helper, Santa?” a small voice asks, and I look up to see a little girl with curly blonde hair and wide blue eyes staring at me.
“Sure is,” Dad says with a wink. “She’s the one who made sure all the presents got here safe and sound.”
I wink, holding up a small box with a shiny bow. “And I double-checked the naughty list,” I add. “Looks like everyone here made it onto the nice list this year.”
The kids laugh as I finish arranging the presents. Once I’m done, I brush off my hands and step behind Santa’s throne. I exhale a low, contented sigh and glance around the room.
That’s when I see him.
Ray stands in the corner, half hidden in the shadows near the doorway. He’s wearing a black peacoat over a dark sweater, his broad shoulders stiff, his expression unreadable. Beside him is a boy—no more than five years old—clinging to his hand. The boy’s dark hair is tousled, his round cheeks flushed, and his wide eyes dart around the room, taking in the bustle with a mix of awe and hesitation.
My breath catches in my throat. Pete. It has to be him.
Ray’s gaze locks onto mine, and the rest of the room fades away. The chatter becomes a distant hum as we stare at each other. The weight of the feelings I suppressed over the past days presses down on my chest like a boulder. Breathing turns ragged and hard as time freezes. His dark eyes are intense, but I spot something softer, more vulnerable in them. It’s like a single ray of sunlight breaking through heavy storm clouds.
I don’t know how long we stand like that until Pete breaks the spell, tugging on Ray’s hand and saying something I can’t hear. Ray kneels beside him, his movements slow and deliberate, and wraps an arm around the boy’s shoulders. The protective gesture throws me back in time to when Ray and I were kids.
Ray has changed so much from the boy I used to know. Yet he’s still undeniably him. This realization stirs something deep inside me. And seeing him with his son, the tenderness in his touch, only makes it harder to look away.
It also deepens the mystery. How did his wife die? What kind of life is he living now? I can’t decide, though, if I want to know the answers to these questions. I take a deep breath, trying to focus back on my task, but it’s no use. Ray Flanagan has always had a way of getting under my skin. And now, with this darkness in his eyes, he’s more dangerous than ever. And every time we meet, I get the sensation that Ray is keeping a secret far bigger than I can imagine.