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“Same here,” Susan agreed, taking the second envelope. She held it against her chest for a moment, her eyes alight with worry.

Diane picked up the third, her thumb running over the postmark before setting it beside her ledger.

That left the final envelope resting alone on the table. Maggie eyed it with apprehension. Keeping busy with task after task was how she survived, but this task felt like more than a distraction. It felt…life-changing.

The envelope was addressed simply in blocky blue crayon: Santa, Cranberry Cove. She reached out, her fingers trembling as she lifted the paper. The envelope was light, but holding it carried a heavy responsibility that extended far beyond her organized binders and committee lists.

“Open them,” Vivian urged.

Maggie turned the envelope over, running her fingernail under the paper flap. She pulled out a single sheet of lined notebook paper, folded twice. The writing inside was done in blue crayon, with large, wobbly letters leaning across the blue lines.

Dear Santa,

I don’t need any toys this year. I just wish my grandpa wasn’t sad anymore. He looks at my grandma’s old chair, and he doesn’t laugh like he used to. Please fix his heart for Christmas.

Love, Theo (age 7)

Maggie stared at the crayon letters, her breath catching in her throat as heat burned behind her eyes. She didn’t need a signature or an address to know who had written this wish. Seven-year-old Theo Foster was the only young boy living on the coastal road with his grandfather, Ben Foster.

A dull, familiar pain throbbed behind Maggie’s ribs. Ben Foster was a man she saw at the hardware store and the docks, a quiet, reserved former boat captain who had lost his wife early this year, just after the holidays, and had shut himself away from the town ever since. He carried the exact same unyielding shadow of grief that Maggie wore day in and day out like a second skin.

Maggie looked up from the paper, her eyes meeting Vivian’s calm, watching gaze.

“I got one from Theo Foster,” Maggie said, her throat tight as she held the letter between her fingers.

“I got one from Ray Donnelly’s mother.” Diane’s voice was barely a whisper, her eyes narrowing suspiciously at Vivian.

“I got one from Dr. Nate’s nurse, Patty Reynolds,” Carol told them.

“And I got one from my grandchild, Eli.” Susan was the last to tell them about her letter. Her eyes moved toward Vivian.

“I don’t know how to fix a grieving man’s heart,” Maggie said, her grip tightening around the paper as she faced the truth. “I can barely manage my own.”

“You don’t have to fix his heart,” Vivian replied, her eyes brimming with wisdom. “You just have to help a seven-year-old boy find a way to make his grandfather want to smile again.”

Maggie’s focus dropped back down to the blue crayon writing. The wedding band on her right hand rested cool and solid. She folded the paper carefully along its original creases and slid it into the envelope. “All right.” Her voice was low. “I’ll talk to the boy and see what I can do.”

Around the table, her four friends sat in silent contemplation, each holding their own Christmas wish assignment. The rustle of paper and the crackle of the wood stove filled the room, accompanied by the steady ticking of the tall grandfather clock near the pantry door.

Carol cleared her throat. “Okay, since we’re doing this, we need a clear boundary. The whole strength of the Christmas Wish Society has always been its discretion. No one outside this living room can know that these private letters even exist, let alone who wrote them.”

Each of them nodded in agreement.

“That’s how it’s worked since the beginning,” Vivian said from her armchair, resting her hands over the plaid blanket. “I’m glad I could finally tell the four of you.”

“You should’ve done so much sooner,” Diane scolded Vivian lightly. She sighed. “This was an awful lot for you to bear on your own all these years, Vivian.”

“Yes, Vivian,” Susan added. “While I think this is something amazing you’ve done, you should’ve told us.” Her fingers caressed the flap of her own envelope. “This task feels as if it’s almost sacred. Like holding someone’s heart in your hand for a little while.”

Maggie’s eyes turned down toward her lap, her thumb pressing into the edge of Theo’s wish. Sacred or not, the assignment felt like a crystal-clear mirror held up to her own life. That sweet young boy had spent his autumn watching his grandfather sit in an empty living room and hide away from the world. A widower with a shield over his life to protect him from the truth of his pain.

And Vivian had handed that specific letter to Maggie. Did she think that maybe it would help her mend her own heart? Was that even possible?

Maggie raised her gaze, meeting Vivian’s calm eyes across the table. “If I hadn’t seen you fall off the stool myself, I’d say you planned this.”

Carol looked up from her paper, her eyebrows knitting together. “Yes, it does seem quite a big coincidence.” She glanced at her letter. “Almost as if each task was tailor-made for us to help with.”

“It’s just coincidental,” Diane scoffed at Maggie’s insinuation.