The Letter to Santa

The cold wind rattled the windows, and the sleet made little tapping sounds against the glass like it was trying to get inside. But inside, the living room was cozy and glowed with the warm light of the Christmas tree.

Tinsel shimmered, and ornaments hung carefully, each one holding a tiny memory. Beneath the tree lay a mountain of wrapped boxes—large and small—meticulously placed after weeks of late nights and overtime hours.

Emily rubbed her eyes, the weight of the season settling on her shoulders. It was 11:45 p.m. Her husband, Matt, was already asleep, and the hum from the furnace was the only sound keeping her company. The kids—Ella, eight, and Danny, six—were asleep too, no doubt dreaming of about tomorrow.

She leaned back in the armchair, exhaustion seeping into her bones. She thought about all the gifts carefully chosen, the sales hunted down, the receipts crumpled at the bottom of her purse. And she thought of the hours. Hours spent away from home, logged into spreadsheets and conference calls. Hours bent over her laptop long after the sun had set. All so they could afford those shiny boxes under the tree.

They’ll be so happy tomorrow, she told herself.

But the thought brought her little rest. She stared at the blinking lights of the tree, feeling a strange hollowness in her chest. She closed her eyes, trying to shake it off. At long last, she decided to call it a night because when she woke, it would be Christmas. And the busyness of the season would be the over.

As she got up to head to bed, she noticed an opened package of cookies on the counter—not put away.

Someone must have left cookies out for Santa.

She glanced around the kitchen and the living room, but didn’t see the plate anywhere. A curious thought tugged at her, and she tiptoed down the hall. The door to Danny’s room was slightly ajar, a faint glow from his nightlight spilling out. She peeked inside.

There, on his bedside table, was a small plate of cookies and a glass of milk. The sight made her smile. It was the sweetest thing she’d seen all night. She stepped in quietly, leaning down to admire the careful setup. That’s when she noticed the folded paper next to the plate, with “To Santa” written in shaky, crayon-scrawled letters. Underneath the words, in big, uneven print, was “Top Secret.”

Her heart fluttered as she picked up the note and carefully unfolded it.

Dear Santa,

Please make Mom and Dad not so busy. I miss them and just want them to play with me.

Love, Danny

Her breath caught in her throat, the words blurring through her tears. The bright crayon letters, the smudges from his little fingers—it was all too much. She clutched the note, her knees nearly buckling under the weight of it.

She turned and walked back to the bedroom, her heart pounding. She sat down on the bed next to Matt and lightly shook his shoulder.

“Wake up,” she whispered.

He rubbed his eyes, blinking at her. “What is it?”

“You need to see this.” Her voice trembled as she handed him the note and turned on soft light from their bedside lamp.

He read the letter slowly, his face softening, the lines of exhaustion replaced by something deeper. When he finished, he looked up at her, his eyes glistening—just like hers.

“We’ve spent so much time and money trying to make this a perfect Christmas,” she whispered. “But all they really want is us.”

Matt nodded, his gaze distant, lost in thought. “You know, when I think back to my own Christmases as a kid, it’s not the gifts I remember. It’s sitting around the table with my parents, playing board games, drinking hot chocolate together by the fire. Those are my sweetest memories.”

He paused, his voice soft. “We’ve tried so hard to give them all the things we never had. But we’ve forgotten to give them the one thing I cherished the most—time together.”

She blinked back her tears and took his hand. “Let’s fix that. It’s not too late. Christmas isn’t until tomorrow.”

She reached for a piece of paper on the nightstand and began to write.

Dear Ella and Danny,

We forgot to wrap the most important gift: today, we’re giving you our time.

Let’s spend the whole day together. No work. No phones. Just us.

We love you so much.

Love, Mom and Dad.

She folded the note and tucked it under the tree, where it rested behind the other gifts. Her heart felt lighter—as if she’d just wrapped the most precious gift of all.

Christmas morning dawned bright and early. The kids tore into their gifts, paper flying, laughter filling the room. But when Danny spotted the envelope under the tree, he paused.

“What’s this?” he asked, holding it up.

“Open it,” she said, her voice soft.

He and Ella read the note together, their eyes wide.

Danny’s gaze drifted off into the distance, as if wondering had Santa really seen his letter. A slow smile spread across his face, a mix of wonder and relief.

“No work today?” he whispered.

“We promise,” she said, hugging them both.

The new dolls, the action figures, the boxes of puzzles—none of that mattered, as the family headed to the kitchen.

“Who wants to learn how to make Dad’s famous pancakes?” Matt asked, rolling up his sleeves.

“Me!” they shouted.

As they mixed the pancake batter, Danny paused, his eyes glancing toward the fireplace. He smiled softly, then whispered to no one in particular, “Thanks, Santa.”

Emily and Matt exchanged a knowing look, their hearts full. Danny didn’t need to explain. They knew exactly what he meant.