On my way back from last-minute Christmas shopping this morning, I passed by a family talking on a neighborhood street corner. Their daughter suddenly jumped out into the street. Luckily, I was paying attention, so when I got back, I wrote this Christmas story:
It was a crisp Christmas Eve morning, and the air smelled faintly of pine and cinnamon. Sarah stood at the bedroom mirror, carefully brushing her daughter Lily’s fine, golden hair. In one hand, she held a sparkly red and green ribbon—perfectly festive for their last-minute shopping trip. In the other, Lily clutched a simple pink ribbon, her favorite.
“Mommy, I want the pink one,” Lily said, her lips in a determined pout.
“But Lily,” Sarah replied, smoothing her daughter’s hair. “The Christmas ribbon matches your dress. Don’t you want to look festive for all the people we’ll see today?”
Lily shook her head, her little voice resolute. “No, I want pink. It’s my favorite.”
Sarah hesitated. It was such a small thing, wasn’t it? Yet it felt important to guide Lily, to teach her the joy of embracing the season.
Path One: The Red and Green Ribbon
After a gentle struggle, Sarah won. She tied the red and green ribbon into Lily’s hair, a neat bow that sat perfectly atop her ponytail.
Later that day, they bundled into the car and drove into town. The streets bustled with holiday shoppers, their faces lit with excitement. Parking in a lot near the toy store, they spotted some friends across the way. While Sarah chatted, Lily played nearby, skipping and twirling in her holiday dress.
“Mommy, watch me!” Lily called out, her laughter carrying over the parking lot.
The moment was so fleeting. One second, Lily was dancing; the next, she darted out into the street to chase a bouncing piece of wrapping paper caught in the breeze.
A truck roared around the corner.
The driver never saw her.
The scream tore through Sarah’s throat, and the world seemed to collapse into stillness. Her little girl, her shining light, was gone in an instant.
The months that followed were a dark fog. Christmas became a season of sorrow. Sarah and her husband, Mark, struggled to find their footing in the waves of grief. The smallest things—wrapping paper, Christmas decorations—were unbearable reminders. They drifted apart, their love buried under the weight of guilt and blame.
One day, sitting alone in Lily’s empty room, Sarah clutched a tiny, sparkly red and green ribbon in her trembling hands and whispered, “Why didn’t I just let her wear the pink one?”
Path Two: The Pink Ribbon
With a sigh, Sarah relented. “Alright, Lily. You win. The pink ribbon it is.”
Lily beamed as Sarah tied the soft bow into her hair. It didn’t match her dress, but her joy lit up the room like the twinkling lights on their Christmas tree.
They headed into town later that day, the same bustling streets, the same holiday buzz in the air. After parking near the toy store, they bumped into friends and stopped to chat. Lily twirled in her pink-bowed ponytail, the picture of happiness.
“Mommy, look!” Lily squealed, running and jumping to catch the same piece of wrapping paper caught on the wind.
Sarah gasped as Lily darted into the street. But just as the truck rounded the corner, its driver hit the brakes, stopping just in time. The driver had seen Lily’s pink ribbon dancing in the sunlight.
A man stepped out of the truck, visibly shaken but relieved. “I almost didn’t see her,” he said, his voice trembling. “But that pink ribbon—my wife used to put one just like it in my daughter’s hair when she was small. It caught my eye.”
Sarah fell to her knees, clutching Lily tightly. Tears streamed down her face—not just from relief, but from the sudden, overwhelming realization of how fragile life was.
The Revelation
That night, after Lily had drifted off to sleep, Sarah stood at the foot of the Christmas tree. The soft glow of the lights reflected in her eyes. The pink ribbon lay on the counter, a small, unassuming piece of cloth that had made all the difference.
Suddenly, a vision came to her—a vivid, almost tangible feeling of the other path, the one where she had insisted on the red and green ribbon. She felt the weight of that alternate reality: the loss, the grief, the strained love with her husband.
It wasn’t just the ribbon, she realized. It was the power of small choices, the importance of letting go, of cherishing life as it came rather than as she thought it should be.
Conclusion
The next morning, as snow gently fell outside, Sarah held Lily close while they unwrapped presents under the tree. Her husband handed her a small box with a bow—a pink ribbon tied neatly around it. Inside was a tiny silver ornament shaped like a bow.
“To remind us of what really matters,” he said with a smile.
And in that moment, Sarah made a promise to herself: she would never again take for granted the small, quiet miracles of her everyday life.
