Later, after brushing her teeth and tucking her into bed, Sophie looked up at me with sleepy eyes.
“Mom,” she whispered. “Do you think Santa ever gets lonely too?”
I brushed her hair back gently.
“Maybe, baby. But sometimes kind people make sure no one stays lonely for long. So I hope Santa is always happy and surrounded by people who love him.”
The next morning, I was pouring my first cup of coffee when a sharp knock hit the front door.
Not hesitant. Not gentle. Firm.
My stomach flipped.
Through the peephole, I saw a police officer holding a small cardboard box.
“Are you Clara?” he asked gently. “Mother of a child named Sophie?”
“Yes… I am. What’s this about?”
“It’s about the cashier you spoke with last night.”
“Ruth?” I gasped.
