Lost on Christmas, a Doctor Finds Family in a Single Dad’s Home
Healing in the Farmhouse
The door opened, releasing a wave of blessed heat, and Anna found herself staring up at a man who looked as surprised as she felt.
He was tall, with dark hair mussed as if he’d been running his hands through it, wearing a flannel shirt dusted with flour.
His eyes, a startling shade of blue-green, widened at the sight of her.
“Oh my God,” he said.
“Are you… come in, come in right now.”
Strong hands guided her inside. Anna’s legs gave out the moment she crossed the threshold, and she would have collapsed if he hadn’t caught her.
“I’m sorry,” she managed through chattering teeth.
“My car, I crashed. I saw your light.”
“Don’t apologize. Jesus, you’re freezing. Can you walk? The couch is right here.”
He half-carried her to a worn leather sofa positioned near a fireplace where flames danced cheerfully.
A Christmas tree stood in the corner, covered in homemade ornaments and twinkling lights. The whole room smelled like cinnamon, pine, and something baking.
“Daddy?” a small voice called from another room.
“Who is it?”
“Just someone who needs help, sweetheart. Stay in the kitchen for a minute. Okay?”
The man, Liam—Anna would learn his name was Liam—disappeared and returned with an armful of blankets and a steaming mug.
He draped the blankets over her shaking shoulders with surprising gentleness, then pressed the mug into her hands.
“Hot cocoa,” he said.
“Drink it slowly. You’re probably hypothermic.”
“I’m a doctor,” Anna said automatically, then laughed at the absurdity.
“I know, I just can’t seem to think straight.”
“Shock will do that.”
He knelt beside the couch, studying her with a practiced eye.
“Are you hurt? Any pain?”
“No, just cold, so cold.”
“Okay, the cocoa will help. I’m Liam, by the way. Liam Foster.”
“Anna. Anna Sharma.”
She took a sip of cocoa and nearly wept at the warmth spreading through her chest.
“Thank you. I thought when I couldn’t find anyone…”
“You’re safe now.”
His voice was steady, reassuring—a voice that had comforted a frightened child through nightmares, Anna thought.
“The storm’s supposed to last through the night. Roads won’t be passable until morning at the earliest.”
The reality of her situation settled over her. She was stranded on Christmas Eve with a complete stranger.
“I should try to call someone,” she said weakly.
“The hospital, they’re expecting me.”
“Phone lines are down and cell service out here is non-existent even in good weather. I’m sorry.”
A little girl appeared in the doorway, peeking around the frame with enormous brown eyes.
She couldn’t have been more than six, with dark curls pulled into lopsided pigtails and flour on her nose.
“Is the lady okay?” she asked.
Liam smiled, and it transformed his face from handsome to beautiful.
“She will be. Sophie, come say hello. This is Dr. Sharma. She got caught in the storm.”
Sophie approached cautiously, clutching a stuffed rabbit that had seen better days.
“Are you staying for Christmas?”
Anna blinked, looking from the child to Liam, who had the grace to look embarrassed.
“If that’s okay,” Anna said softly.
“I don’t really have a choice.”
“It’s more than okay,” Liam said firmly.
“You’re not going back out in that.”
He gestured toward the window where snow pressed against the glass like a living thing.
“We have a guest room. It’s not fancy, but it’s warm.”
“I don’t want to impose.”
“You’re not imposing. It’s Christmas Eve.”
He said it simply, as if that explained everything. Perhaps it did.
“Daddy, the cookies!”
“Right, I forgot.”
He stood quickly.
“We’re in the middle of making Christmas cookies. Do you… would you like to join us once you’ve warmed up a bit?”
Anna looked at this stranger who’d taken her in without question, at his daughter with flour on her face and hope in her eyes, and at the warm, lived-in room.
It was nothing like her sterile apartment. Something in her chest cracked open just a little.
“I’d love to,” she heard herself say.
The kitchen was a cheerful disaster. Flour dusted every surface.
Cookie cutters lay scattered across the counter, and a mixing bowl with suspiciously green frosting teetered on the edge of the sink.
Sophie had appointed herself Anna’s guide, explaining with solemn importance the difference between snowflake cookies and star cookies.
“The stars are for Santa,” Sophie explained carefully, pressing a cookie cutter into rolled dough.
“But the snowflakes are for us because Daddy says we’re special like snowflakes.”
“You certainly are,” Anna said, watching the little girl work with intense concentration.
She changed into dry clothes, a pair of Liam’s sweatpants that she had to roll up three times and a sweater that hung past her hips.
Her wet things were tumbling in the dryer downstairs, and she’d finally stopped shivering.
Liam worked at the stove, stirring something that smelled divine. He moved with easy confidence in the kitchen.
It was the kind of confidence that came from years of practice rather than formal training.
Every so often, he’d glance over his shoulder to check on Sophie or to meet Anna’s eyes with a small smile that made her stomach flutter.
It had nothing to do with hunger.
“I hope you like potato soup,” he said.
“It’s nothing fancy, but it’s warm.”
“It smells amazing. Better than anything I’ve had in months.”
“You don’t cook?” Sophie asked, looking scandalized.
Anna laughed.
“I’m afraid not. I’m usually at the hospital, and when I’m home, I mostly survive on takeout and coffee.”
“That’s sad,” Sophie declared.
“Doesn’t anyone cook for you?”
The innocent question hit harder than it should have.
“No,” Anna said quietly.
“I live alone.”
“On Christmas?”
Sophie’s eyes went wide with horror.
“Sophie,” Liam said gently.
“Some people spend the holidays differently.”
“But that’s so lonely.”
Out of the mouths of babes, Anna thought.
“I suppose it is,” she admitted.
“I’m usually working. Someone has to take care of the sick people, even on Christmas.”
“You’re like a superhero,” Sophie breathed.
“More like someone who doesn’t know when to stop.”
Liam met her eyes across the kitchen, and something passed between them. Understanding, perhaps, or recognition.
She had the sudden feeling he knew exactly what she meant.
“Soup’s ready,” he announced.
“Sophie, go wash your hands. Dr. Sharma, would you mind setting the table? Plates are in the cabinet to your left.”
They moved around each other with surprising ease, falling into a rhythm that felt practiced despite being brand new.
Sophie chattered throughout dinner, telling Anna about her school play where she’d been an angel.
She spoke of her best friend Ruby, who could do cartwheels, and her fervent belief that Santa definitely knew where they lived.
“Even though we’d moved last year,” Sophie added.
“We came here after…” Sophie paused, looking at her father.
“After your mom passed away,” Liam finished gently.
“It’s okay to talk about it, sweetheart.”
“Mommy died when I was four,” Sophie told Anna matter-of-factly.
“So Daddy takes care of me now. He’s really good at it.”
Anna’s throat tightened.
“I’m sure he is.”
“It’s been an adjustment,” Liam said, his voice carefully neutral.
“But we’re figuring it out, aren’t we, Soph?”
“Yep. Daddy learned to braid hair and everything.”
