Twenty Years Ago, I Played Santa for a Little Girl – This Christmas, She Came Back for Me

Twenty years ago, I lost my baby and my husband in one devastating December. Grief swallowed me whole, and the only thing that held me together was a small act: buying toys for a little girl at the grocery store.

I still remember her—no older than five, hair in a crooked ponytail, a small scar on her cheek, and eyes that already knew disappointment. I ran down the toy aisle, grabbed a doll, candy, and a teddy bear, and handed it to her, telling her I was one of Santa’s elves. She hugged me, and for a moment, I could breathe again.

Years passed. I never had another child, and Christmases became quiet, lonely affairs. But that little girl never left my memory.

Then, on Christmas Eve, she knocked on my door—grown now, scar still faint, eyes filled with tears. “I remember you,” she said. She brought me to her mother, who was dying of cancer, and told me the story: that night had saved them both, inspiring her mother to start a toy business that gave them a life they’d never imagined.

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