Amber stared at the brown parcel, her hands trembling as she traced the delicate cursive handwriting of her name on the label. The paper had the faint smell of cinnamon, as though it had been wrapped in a winter wonderland or in a bakery where they bake gingerbread cookies. She felt a little puzzled, hadn’t signed up for any Secret Santa exchange this year. In fact, she’d avoided anything remotely festive since Sam had left her—just two weeks before Christmas.

The memory of their breakup still clung to her like the bitter chill of winter air. One moment, she had been walking happily hand in hand with him down Regent Street, captivated by the glow of Christmas lights; the next, she was sitting alone on the edge of her sofa, stunned as he had sent her a hurtful text message, stating “we are done”. Done? As if love could be so easily stopped. There had been no goodbye in person, no chance for her to argue, to heart explanation or understand anything. Just words on a screen, cold and final, leaving her feeling discarded and unworthy of even a proper farewell.

The days that followed were an endless fog of tears, tantrums, unanswered messages to friends, and a hurtful emptiness that nothing could fill. Amber just started to believe Christmas was a time of magic - with the love of her life by her side – it could not be anything less than that… but now it all felt like a lie—a cruel illusion for fools who dared to dream.

But this package was here now, and it demanded her attention.

She hesitated before ripping the tape, as though the box itself might hold answers she wasn’t ready to face. Inside, she found a small journal bound in deep green leather and embossed with golden stars.

There was no note, but no hint of who had sent it. As she flipped through the pages, she noticed a quote on the first page: "Sometimes, the Universe knows the gifts we need, even when we don’t."

Amber rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t deny the faint tug of curiosity. Beneath the quote were prompts:

What hurt you today?

What did you learn from it?

What small step can you take to heal?

Her chest tightened and her eyes filled up with tears. She wasn’t sure she wanted to confront the answers to those questions, but something about the journal called to her. She grabbed a pen and sat at her kitchen table, the soft glow of her twinkling Christmas lights, gently illuminating her page with a warm light.

By New Year’s Eve, the journal had become her confidant. Each day, Amber poured her thoughts onto the pages. At first, the entries were raw and messy—pouring grief and unanswered questions. Why had Sam given up on her? Why wasn’t she enough? But as the days passed, her reflections grew quieter, softer. She began to see patterns in her thoughts and behaviours, cracks in her self-perception that had existed long before Sam.

One entry in particular marked a turning point:

"Today I realised that Sam leaving wasn’t about me. It was about him. I gave everything I could, but I forgot to leave room for myself. Loving someone shouldn’t mean disappearing into their world and losing your own."

That night, she placed the journal on her bedside table and stared at the ceiling. For the first time in weeks, her tears felt like they were washing something clean rather than drowning her.

The Universe, it seemed, wasn’t finished with her yet. A week into January, Amber received a notification about a writing workshop in the countryside. She had signed up for it months ago and forgotten all about it. At first, she considered cancelling. The idea of leaving her flat, let alone spending three days with strangers, felt exhausting. But something—perhaps the same invisible force that had sent her the journal—urged her to go.

When she arrived at the workshop, the first thing she noticed was the roaring fireplace and the scent of freshly brewed coffee. Oh how she loves the scent of coffee – more than a cup of coffee itself! The second thing she noticed was how nervous she felt, but there was no turning back – she was here and that’s that!

As the weekend unfolded, she found herself swept up in the power of storytelling. Each exercise felt like peeling back a layer of her soul, exposing truths she hadn’t dared to face.

On the final evening, participants were asked to share a piece of writing inspired by a pivotal moment in their lives. Amber hesitated, but when her turn came, she stood up and read aloud the entry from her journal about losing herself in love. Her voice trembled, but as she finished, the room erupted into applause. Anna felt a little shy and surprised; as she did not think she was anywhere near as good to receive such a reaction. But despite experiencing these uncomfortable feelings, she felt proud.

One of the attendees, a woman named Clara, approached her afterwards. “Your words… they were beautiful,” Clara said. “Have you ever thought about writing more? Maybe even publishing something?”

Amber laughed, brushing off the suggestion, even though she thought of that so many times, just couldn’t find the courage to act on it. But that night, as she lay in bed, Clara’s words echoed in her mind, like some sort of approval that she was looking for. Could she? Would she dare to be as good as someone expected?

As winter melted into spring, Amber found herself chasing dreams she hadn’t realised she’d been holding so much back. She joined a local writing group, began drafting short stories, and even finally launched a blog where she shared her reflections on love, loss, and resilience. To her surprise, readers began reaching out, thanking her for articulating feelings they hadn’t been able to express themselves.

It wasn’t just her creative life that was flourishing. Amber started taking long walks in the park, savouring the blush of cherry blossoms and the laughter of children playing. She reconnected with old friends, made peace with strained relationships, and learned to enjoy her own company. For the first time in years, she felt whole—not because of someone else, but because of herself.

By the time the next Christmas rolled around, Amber barely recognised the woman she had been a year ago. Her blog had grown into a small community, and she was in the early stages of writing a memoir. More importantly, she had learned to embrace life’s uncertainties, trusting that every twist and turn was part of a greater journey.

On Christmas Eve, she sat by her window, sipping mulled wine and watching the snowfall. Her phone suddenly buzzed with a message from Sam. He had seen her blog and wanted to meet for coffee, to talk.

For a moment, Amber’s heart skipped a beat. She thought of the nights she had cried over him, the countless ways she had replayed their breakup in her mind. But then she looked at her journal, and filled with lessons she had earned through heartbreak and healing, she typed a polite but firm response. She declined his offer. She didn’t need closure from him anymore. She had found it within herself.

As she closed her laptop, she whispered a quiet “thank you” to the Universe. It had been a secret Santa of sorts, after all, delivering not just one unexpected gift but an entire year of transformation. The pain she had once thought would destroy her had become the foundation for something extraordinary.

She wasn’t afraid of what the future held. Whatever it was, she knew she was ready.

And that, she thought with a smile, was the greatest gift of all.

Anna

@happydasy

London

Anna has not written a story.