Page 53 of Daddy's Little Christmas

Chapter 10

Rudy

My breath… stopped.

There, against the far wall, was a little loveseat, the kind that looked like it knew secrets. The upholstery was a deep, calm green, edges softened with age. A thick, cream-coloured blanket was folded neatly over the back, one corner already slippingdown as if someone had started to pull it around themselves and decided to leave it ready instead.

A plush rug lay underfoot, pale and inviting, the kind your toes would sink into without asking permission. Next to the loveseat, a low wooden table held a mug and a small lamp with a warm, round shade that cast the whole space in a soft amber glow—like it existed just slightly apart from the rest of the room.

And beside it, on the floor, sat a woven basket.

My fingers started to tingle.

I took a step closer. Then another. Graeme stayed near the doorway, giving me space the way he always seemed to know to do, like he understood that if he moved too fast, I might bolt—or crumble.

Fairy lights reflected off the basket’s curved rim, glinting against the shapes inside. My heart thudded hard enough that I felt it in my throat.

No.

It couldn’t be.

It wouldn’t be.

My knees went loose. I lowered myself onto the edge of the rug without really deciding to, and reached for the basket with hands that had started to shake despite my best efforts.

Inside, nestled carefully as if each thing mattered, were pieces of a world I hadn’t been allowed to touch in years.

A small, simple bottle lay near the top, its clear sides printed with pale blue snowflakes that caught the light when I lifted it. Beneath it, a pacifier—soft winter white, the handle ring a muted grey-blue. Not bright or cartoonish. Just… calm. Chosen.

My vision blurred.

Tucked along one side were coloring books—thick ones, not flimsy—filled with winter scenes, animals, and gentle patterns. A new box of crayons sat beside them, the colors rich and clean, still wrapped, as if waiting for me to open them properly.

There were socks too. Not just one pair. Several. Thick, fuzzy ones in reds and creams and soft greys, all folded with care. Underneath them, two sets of pajamas: flannel pants patterned with tiny reindeer on one, snowflakes on the other, both soft to the touch in a way that made my chest tighten painfully.

And then—

My breath hitched.

Plushies.

Not one.

Half a dozen small reindeer, each one unmistakably handmade. Same shape, same size—but every single one different. One wore a deep green scarf. Another had a red-and-cream striped one. One had a crooked stitched smile. Another’s antlers were just slightly uneven, like they’d been loved before they ever left the maker’s hands.

The reindeer I’d been staring at in the shop since the first day—thatone—was there too. And he wasn’t alone anymore.

Nestled among them were a couple of others: a soft polar bear with a knitted scarf, a small fox with rounded ears, a gentle-looking snow owl with wide stitched eyes.

I pressed a hand to my mouth.

This wasn’t random.

This wasn’t impulse.

This was someone noticing. Someone remembering. Someone deciding I deserved more than one small kindness at a time.

My chest felt too full. Too tight. Too open.