I woke in the middle of Christmas night to an unsettling silence. When I walked into Mya’s room, her bed was empty. Then I noticed my car keys were gone.
Until that moment, I believed we were a perfect little family. My husband, Hayden, was loving and thoughtful, even after twelve years. And Mya—our bright, curious nine-year-old—was the heart of our home.
From the time she was small, I tried to make Christmas magical for her. Snowy decorations, caroling nights, twinkling lights—her joy made every effort worth it. She loved everything about the season, especially Santa and his reindeer.
Just days earlier, she’d asked endless questions while we decorated the tree. How did the reindeer fly so long? Didn’t they get tired? What food would help them most? She decided sandwiches would be better than carrots—choices mattered, she said.
Christmas Eve was perfect. Our house glowed with lights, dinner was warm and familiar, and Mya could barely stay awake from excitement. When I tucked her into bed, she hugged me tight and whispered, “This will be the best Christmas ever.”
At 2 a.m., that certainty shattered.
Her door was open. She was gone.
Hayden and I searched the house in panic—until I saw a folded note beneath the tree.
It was addressed to Santa.
Mya had written that she wanted to help his tired reindeer. She’d prepared blankets, warm clothes, and sandwiches. She even left my car keys in case Santa needed them—asking only that they be returned by morning.
Tears filled my eyes as relief washed over me.
I rushed outside and found her across the street near an abandoned house, bundled up and waiting patiently.
“I’m helping the reindeer rest,” she said happily.
I wrapped her in my arms and carried her home.
Christmas morning brought another note—this one from Santa, thanking her for her kindness and assuring her the reindeer loved her sandwiches.
As she squealed with joy and opened her Nutcracker tickets, I realized something important.
I had spent years trying to create magic for my daughter.
But she had created it for all of us.