Two days before Christmas, I ignored every warning about strangers and took in a shivering mother and her baby. I believed I was only offering them a warm place for the night—never imagining it would change all of our lives.

Two days before Christmas, I opened my home to a mother and her baby. On Christmas morning, a box arrived with my name on it—and everything shifted.

I’m 33, raising two little girls on my own. They’re five and seven, and they believe in Santa with absolute conviction.

They scribble letters full of backward S’s and lopsided hearts. They debate which cookies he prefers. They take the whole thing very seriously.

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