“Does he feed them special food? Carrots are fine, but maybe they like sandwiches better. People need choices—like how Daddy likes turkey but you like chicken.”

At the mall, she told Santa exactly that—maybe switch to sandwiches for the reindeer. I laughed, not knowing that conversation would matter more than I could imagine.

Christmas Eve was perfect. The house sparkled under icicle lights. The oven smelled like ham, and Hayden’s famous green bean casserole steamed on the table. Mya spun in the driveway, her red dress catching the glow. “The lights look like stars came down to live on our street!” she said. We tucked her into her Rudolph pajamas by eight. “The sooner you sleep, the sooner morning comes,” I told her, echoing my mother’s old line. She hugged me tight. “This is going to be the best Christmas ever.”

At 2