Nothing You Dismay

Snow swirled through the air, glittering under the streetlights like shards of broken glass. Thom pulled his coat tighter, the cold still cutting through the thick wool. The Christmas season had fully descended on the city, and while carolers sang in warm homes and families gathered around glowing trees, he roamed the streets—searching.

The snow had been falling for hours, but Thom didn’t notice anymore. It had become part of the scenery, like the yellow glow of the streetlights or the distant hum of holiday songs leaking out of shop doors. People passed him, their faces tucked into scarves, their feet quick against the ice. He didn’t look at them. He hadn’t come out for people like that.

He was here for only one person—June, his daughter.

The photograph in his pocket was creased and faded from years of handling. Her wide, innocent smile stared back at him whenever he took it out. A stark contrast to the woman she might have become.

It had been five years since she’d vanished, slipping into a life of shadows after a string of bad decisions and worse company. Five Christmases of wondering if she was even alive.

He shoved his hands deep into his pockets, moving from one bar to the next, his eyes scanning the dimly lit rooms, his voice hoarse from asking strangers if they’d seen her. Always the same answer—a shake of the head, a muttered “Sorry,” or a shrug. Tonight felt no different, but something drove him on—a quiet desperation or perhaps just a father’s stubborn hope.

He stopped in front of another bar, the neon sign flickering like it was as tired of the night as he was. His breath came out in short, white clouds as he opened the door, letting in the cold. The smell of stale beer and regret hit him immediately, but it didn’t bother him. It never did.

The bartender didn’t even wait for Thom to ask. He just shook his head and waved him off, like a shopkeeper closing for the night. He didn’t leave right away, though. He lingered by the door, scanning the room with the photo in his pocket, burning against his chest.

She wasn’t here. She hadn’t been in the last bar or the one before that.

Maybe this was stupid. Maybe he should just go home. But he wouldn’t. Not tonight.

To Save Us

The alley was darker than most—its entrance barely noticeable between two rundown buildings.
This alley wasn’t any worse than the last one, but it wasn’t any better, either. It smelled like frozen garbage and burned-out lives, and Thom didn’t want to be there any longer than he had to. But then he saw her.

She was huddled against the wall, a bundle of tattered clothes and long hair that hadn’t been washed in weeks. He stopped, squinting against the dim light. Her face was shadowed, but something about her posture, the curve of her back, made his chest tighten.

“Hey,” he said softly.

She didn’t move. He tried again, louder this time.

“Hey! You all right?” he called out, stepping closer.

She didn’t say anything.

“It’s freezing out here,” Thom said. He stepped closer, careful not to move too quickly. “You shouldn’t be out here.”

Even in his cautious movements, she flinched, her body curling tighter.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” he said, raising his hands. “You’re freezing. Let me help.”

“I’m fine,” she muttered, her voice rough.

“Let me help you,” he said. “I’ve got a warm place. Food. Coffee or tea, if you want it.”

Her face lifted, pale and gaunt beneath stringy hair. Her eyes—tired, wary—met his, and for a moment, something flickered in Thom’s chest.

Recognition? Hope? He couldn’t be sure.

“I said I’m fine,” she said, louder now but with the same scratch.

“You’re not fine,” he said. “It’s below freezing. Let me get you somewhere warm.”

She stared at him for a long moment, and for the first time in years, Thom felt nervous. Maybe she’d say no, and he’d have to leave her here, but he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t.

Finally, she nodded.

Gone Astray

Thom’s apartment wasn’t much, but it was tidy and warm. He flicked on the lights, the yellow glow bouncing off the mismatched furniture and the stack of unopened Christmas cards on the counter. She stood in the doorway, stiff and silent, like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to be there.

He led her inside, walked to the kitchen, and turned on the electric kettle.

“Sit,” he said, motioning to the couch. “I’ll get you something warm.”

She didn’t move at first, but eventually, she shuffled to the couch and perched on the edge, still clutching the blanket he’d draped over her shoulders in the car. The woman sat stiffly, her eyes darting around the room as if expecting some trick.

“Tea’s coming,” he said, sitting in a chair across from her. “You look like you could use it.”

“Thanks,” she said, her voice softening. She pulled the blanket tighter, her trembling hands barely able to grip it.

“What’s your name?”

“Sara,” she said after a long pause.

For a while, they sat in silence. The only sounds were the whistle of the kettle and the soft hum of the radiator. Thom watched her carefully, noting how her hands shook, the hollow look in her eyes.

“Why were you out in that alley alone on Christmas Eve?” he asked finally.

Sara shrugged. “Life, I guess. Bad luck. Bad choices.” She glanced at him, her lips tightening. “What’s it to you?”

Thom hesitated. Should he tell her? Should he show her the photo? No, not yet.

“Just seems like you’ve been through a lot,” he said. “You remind me of someone.”

“Yeah?” she said, her tone skeptical.

“Yeah,” he said quietly.

Tidings

As the evening wore on, Sara began to open up. She told him fragments of her story—a broken home, running away, falling in with the wrong people. It was a story Thom had heard before, but hearing it from her lips felt different, almost like June’s voice echoing her words.

Then he noticed it. A small charm hanging from a chain around her neck—a tiny silver dove, worn smooth with age.

His breath caught. June had one, just like it, a gift from her mom before she passed. But he didn’t say anything. He couldn’t.

“You all right?” Sara asked, her brow furrowing.

Thom forced a smile. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

They continued to sit there in silence, the moon beginning to cast new light into the apartment as it reflected off the snow-covered streets down below. Sara took another long sip from her tea.

“I used to have a daughter,” Thom said finally, breaking the silence. His voice was steady, but his hands trembled as he held his mug.

Sara glanced at him but said nothing.

“She ran away. Five years ago. Haven’t seen her since.”

Her face didn’t change, but her grip on the mug tightened.

“You remind me of her,” he said quietly. “Same eyes. Same way of holding yourself.”

“That why you picked me up?” she asked, her voice sharp.

“Maybe,” he admitted.

She didn’t respond. She just stared at the mug, her hair falling in front of her face like a curtain.

Comfort & Joy

As Sara slept on the couch, Thom sat at the small dining table, the photograph of June in his hand. He placed it gently on the table, studying it under the soft glow of the lamp. He hadn’t shown it to her. He wasn’t sure why.

His eyes flicked between the photo and the girl on the couch. She looked different now, with the blanket pulled up to her chin and her face relaxed. Peaceful.

He wanted to ask her. Wanted to know. But what if she wasn’t June? What if she was just a woman in need, a stranger he’d stumbled upon in an alley?

Or what if she was June and she didn’t remember him—or didn’t want to?

But he didn’t wake her. Didn’t ask. He just sat there, staring at the photo, then at her, and back again.

The questions churned in his mind. In the end, it didn’t matter. Not really. She was here, and she needed him. And for tonight, that was enough.

Thom rose and draped another blanket over Sara, her face soft and peaceful in sleep.

“Merry Christmas,” he whispered, more to himself than to her.

As he sat back down, he looked at the photograph again, then at Sara. A faint smile crossed his lips. Whether she was June or not, she was his daughter tonight.

Outside, the snow kept falling, covering the city in a quiet, forgiving white. And for the first time in years, the city outside didn’t feel quite so cold.