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Christmas always arrived too bright for Dakota.
The lights, the decorations, the rehearsed smiles. Everything was exactly where it was supposed to be. Impeccable. Expensive. Perfectly fake. Dakota could endure it most years. She knew how to sit up straight, how to smile at the right moments, how to say thank you without it sounding like anything at all. It was a learned skill, like walking in heels or posing for photos.
But now, in her car, with the radio on, Dakota wasn’t really hearing anything.
Cheerful carols, perfect voices, canned laughter. It all sounded distant, like it was coming from another world. Her hands gripped the steering wheel too tightly, her knuckles white, her eyes fixed on the road as the Christmas lights on the houses blurred into smears through the tears she stubbornly refused to let fall.
Christmas, for her family, was a performance.
A stage. A flawless production. Carefully measured smiles, correct words, expensive gifts exchanged without ever really looking at one another. Dakota had learned how to endure it, how to sit straight, how not to say too much, how to be the perfect daughter for a few hours.
But that day, something had broken.
One comment. Just one. Said in a soft, polite voice, by her own mother, as if it weren’t a direct blow. Dakota didn’t even repeat it in her head. She didn’t want to. She only remembered the feeling. The sudden emptiness. The cold in her chest. The certainty that no matter how hard she tried to fit in, it would never be enough.
So she did the unthinkable.
She took her car keys and left.
No goodbyes. No explanations. Her heart racing, her throat tight with a mix of guilt and relief.
She drove without a clear destination for a few minutes, until she had one. Not because she thought about it too hard, but because her body already knew where it wanted to go.
Sam’s house.
When she parked in front of it, the trembling in her hands returned. She turned off the engine and stayed there for a moment, breathing deeply, staring at the crooked lights decorating the front of the house. They weren’t perfect. Some blinked more than others. A half-deflated Christmas inflatable slumped in the yard.
It was… real.
Dakota swallowed and stepped out of the car.
Before she could ring the doorbell, the door swung open.
Sam was standing there.
Dressed as Spock.
Pointy ears, sharply drawn eyebrows, the most seriously ridiculous expression possible for someone wearing pajamas under a costume.
Dakota stared at him.
Sam stared back.
“…Merry Christmas,” he said, completely serious.
She let out a short, unexpected laugh, one that loosened her chest like nothing else had all night. Sam blinked, only then noticing her red eyes.
“Uh… are you okay?” he asked, dropping the act.
Dakota shook her head.
Sam didn’t ask for explanations. He stepped aside and opened the door wider.
“Come in. It’s cold.”
Warmth wrapped around her instantly. The smell of food, something sweet baking. Voices from the back of the house. Laughter. A dog barking.
Sam closed the door behind her and gently took the keys from her hand, as if he were afraid she might break.
“Uh… I’ll hold onto these,” he said. “We’ll… we’ll figure it out later.”
He handed her an oversized sweater, clearly his if the design was any indication, hanging almost to her knees.
“Put this on. You’re freezing.”
Dakota obeyed without arguing. Let herself be guided. Let herself stay.
And for the first time all day, she didn’t feel like crying.
Sam’s family welcomed her as if she had been invited all along.
His mother smiled wide when she saw her. His father raised a hand from the couch. Someone handed her a warm mug without asking if she wanted one. Someone else made space for her at the table.
“Sit here, sweetheart,” someone said, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
No one asked about her family. No one mentioned her last name. No one looked at her like she was fragile or famous or inconvenient.
She was just Dakota.
They ate together. Too much. All kinds of homemade food that tasted like love in every bite. They laughed. They played a board game Dakota didn’t fully understand, but she laughed anyway when she lost. She spilled sauce on the sweater and no one panicked. No one corrected her.
At some point, listening to an absurd argument between Sam and his brother about whether an old movie counted as a Christmas classic, Dakota felt something in her chest loosen.
She remembered, without meaning to, the table at her house. The elegant silence. The empty conversations. The heavy looks.
Then she looked around.
Sam’s house was loud. Messy. Warm.
Real.
Later, when the house began to settle and some people nodded off in front of the TV, Dakota ended up sitting on the couch, legs tucked up, resting her head against Sam’s shoulder. He didn’t move. He didn’t say anything. He just stayed.
“You can stay,” he murmured. “If you want. As long as you need.”
Dakota closed her eyes.
She didn’t say thank you. She didn’t know how to say it without breaking.
Instead, she laced her fingers through his.
Sam squeezed gently.
That night, when they offered her a place to sleep, Dakota didn’t hesitate.
She lay down in an improvised room, with an extra blanket and a pillow that wasn’t hers. She stared at the ceiling for a while, listening to the distant sounds of the house. Doors. Footsteps. Life.
She thought about her family. About the car. About running away.
And she thought, with a clarity that scared her just a little, that this could be a family too.
The next morning, she woke up early. Soft light filtered through the window. Voices drifted from the kitchen. It smelled like coffee.
Sam was asleep on the couch, still wearing part of the costume, one pointy ear bent crooked.
Dakota smiled.
She got up quietly and went to the kitchen. Someone served her breakfast without asking. She sat at the table, wrapped in the oversized sweater, feeling… accepted.
When Sam appeared, messy-haired and half-asleep, he looked at her like he couldn’t believe she was still there.
Dakota looked back.
And she didn’t leave.
Because she had found something she wasn’t willing to let go of.
An imperfect Christmas.
A noisy house.
A boy in a ridiculous costume.
And, for the first time, a place where she truly belonged.