Christmas Morning (Well, Midnight Christmas)
The clock had just struck twelve when the last gift was unwrapped, and the laughter in Ms. Černý's house lingered like warmth in the walls. Tomas sat cross-legged on the rug, his hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands, watching Hanae giggle as their mother tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She looked tired, but happy—her shift finally over, her arms wrapped around both her children like she hadn't seen them in years. Lara handed Tomas a small silver box earlier, her fingers brushing his as he opened it. Inside was a hand-bound notebook, the cover etched with a fox curled beneath a tree. "For your thoughts," she'd said with a grin. He hadn't replied—just nodded, but heart full in a way he didn't know how to name. But of course, as secretive as he is, when no one is looking, he gives her a small bunny plush keychain as a gift. However, in the process, Tomas's cheeks flushed the brightest red while holding his dignity together so tightly when giving the gift. Since he was avoiding making eye contact with Lara. Which, she burst laughing in the end, making everyone in the room confused. The house was glowing. Candles flickered in the windows, the fireplace crackled gently, and the scent of cinnamon and pine hung in the air like a memory. It felt like the kind of night you'd want to bottle and keep forever.
But forever didn't last.
Everyone had drifted off. Hanae was asleep on the couch, curled into their mother's side. Tomas had gone to the kitchen for water, his steps quiet, careful not to wake anyone. But as he passed the living room, voices reached him—low, urgent, not meant to be heard.
-"You'll need to tell him soon," Ms. Černý said gently. "He deserves to hear it from you." -"I know," Lara replied, her voice tight. "I just… I don't know how. London wasn't even part of the plan until Dad called last week."
Tomas stopped cold.
-"He'll understand," Ms. Černý continued. "Eventually." -"But what if he doesn't?" Lara whispered. "What if he thinks I'm leaving him behind?"
The words hit Tomas like a slap. London. Her father. Leaving. He stepped into the room slowly, the shadows stretching around him. His face was pale, unreadable at first—but his eyes gave him away. Wide. Hurt. Disbelieving.
Lara turned, startled. Ms. Černý's expression froze.
-"Tomas," Lara breathed.
He didn't answer. Just stared at her, the silence between them suddenly unbearable.
-"You weren't going to tell me?" he asked, voice low but shaking. "You were just going to leave?"
Lara opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
-"You always tell me everything," Tomas continued, stepping closer. "Even the dumb stuff. Even when you broke your glasses accidentally running into a wall. But this? You kept this from me?"
His voice cracked. Ms. Černý stood slowly, but Tomas didn't look at her.
-"I was going to—" -"When?" he snapped. "When you were already gone?"
It wasn't anger. It was heartbreak. His voice wasn't loud, but it carried the weight of something unraveling.
"I didn't mean to hide it," Lara said, her voice trembling. "I just didn't know how to say it." Tomas's jaw tightened. "You didn't know how to say it?" he repeated, bitterly. But then the memory hit—her hesitation on the hill, the way her voice had faltered, the way she'd pulled back just before saying something that clearly mattered.
"…Is that why you couldn't finish your sentence when we were sitting outside?"
The room fell silent. Even the air seemed to pause.
Lara didn't answer. Her eyes, wide and glassy, said everything. She had wanted to tell him. Had tried. But fear had wrapped around her throat like frost—fear of how he'd react, of what it might change between them. She looked down, ashamed. Her fingers curled into the hem of her sleeve, knuckles pale. Tomas's breath caught. He opened his mouth to speak again, but before he could—
The hallway light flicked on.
Their mother stood in the doorway, her robe wrapped tightly around her, like she'd been holding herself together for hours. Her face was pale, lips pressed thin, but her eyes—her eyes were already heavy with guilt. And in that moment, everything made sense. The hush. The hesitation. The weight Lara had been carrying alone. Tomas turned slowly toward her, the pieces falling into place like glass shattering in reverse. No one spoke. But the truth was no longer hiding.
-"Tomas," she said softly. "I was going to tell you. I just didn't want to ruin the night."
He turned to her, stunned.
-"You knew? Mom?" -She nodded. "So did Hanae," she added quietly.
Tomas stepped back, like the room itself had betrayed him.
-"Why?" he asked, voice rising. "Why would you all keep this from me?" -"Because we didn't want to hurt you. And we know how you'll react," his mother said. -"But you did hurt me in the end," Tomas said, louder now. "You did. You made me feel like I was the last to matter. Not only that, but everyone kept me in the dark. I'd rather hear the news much earlier, rather than later. Even if it hurts me regardless."
His chest heaved. The tears didn't fall, but they burned behind his eyes. Lara stepped forward, but he flinched.
-"I didn't want to leave like this. It was sudden, and my father called out of nowhere without my awareness," she said. "I didn't want to leave you. Nor Hanae or your Mom" -"Then why are you?" he asked, voice hollow. "Why are you leaving then? If you didn't want to leave, then why are you dragging the chase?"
She didn't answer. Because no answer would make it okay.
Hanae stirred, blinking sleepily from the couch, sensing the tension. But Tomas didn't look back. He turned toward the hallway, fists clenched, heart thudding like a drum in his ears. Behind him, Lara whispered his name. But he didn't stop. He walked to the guest room, shut the door quietly, and sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the notebook she'd given him. The fox. The hill. The blank pages. He didn't cry, holler. But something inside him shifted—like the bench on the hill had gone cold again.
(2 Weeks Passed)
The morning was cold, but not intense. The kind of cold that settled in slowly, like it had nowhere else to be. Lara's suitcase stood by the door, zipped and waiting. Everyone had gathered—Hanae, Lenka, and Ms. Černý. They tried to keep things light, offering hugs and small jokes, but the weight in the room was impossible to ignore. Lara was leaving for London. No one knew when she'd be back.
At the station, Lara stood bundled in her coat, scarf looped neatly around her neck, glasses fogging with each breath. She looked older. Not in age, but in distance. Like she'd already started to disappear. Everyone hugged her. Hanae clung the longest, whispering something Tomas couldn't hear. Lenka handed her a small bag of snacks—fruit, crackers, and chocolate. Lara smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. She looked at each of them with quiet gratitude. But when her eyes met Tomas's, everything stopped. He stood a few feet away from them, hands buried in his hoodie, shoulders stiff. His face was unreadable, but his eyes weren't. They were tired, sad, and something else—something heavier. He hadn't spoken much since the night he overheard the truth. Since he realized she was leaving without telling him. He didn't necessarily hold a grudge towards her or anyone in general. It's just, this type of thing is something he'd never experienced. So, it's a first for him to view this type of scene.
She took a few steps toward him, and he stood there like a brick wall. Feet firmly on the floor, and no sense of budging or flinching. Before the train arrived, Lenka suggested breakfast—one last meal together. She and Hanae left with Ms. Černý to grab pastries and coffee, promising to be quick. That left Tomas and Lara alone. The station was empty, barely anyone in sight. But Jesus did the awkward, and the deafening silence was eating them alive.
Then Tomas spoke, breaking it.
-"How long will you be gone?" His voice was low, but it wasn't calm. It was the kind of voice people use when they're trying not to fall apart.
Lara hesitated.
-"I don't know," she said. "It depends."
He nodded, slowly. His eyes didn't meet hers.
-"Make sure to be safe," he said. "And I hope to see you again. When the time comes."
It wasn't dramatic. It wasn't loud. But it hit harder than anything else that morning. Lara's breath was caught. She opened her mouth, wanting to say something—anything—but the words didn't mutter; because what could she say? That she was sorry? That she didn't mean to hurt him? That she'd come back?
None of it felt true enough.
Tomas looked at her, and for the first time, she saw it—how deeply it had broken him. Not just the leaving. Not just the secret. It's the unusual pattern to get used to. The way people always leave, and he was always the one left behind. He was only eight, but the way he stood there, hushed, composed, breaking on the inside—it was terrifying. Like he'd already learned how to carry grief without showing it.
Before she could respond, the others returned, arms full of warm bread and coffee cups. The moment passed. They walked her to the platform together. The train pulled in slowly, steam curling into the cold air. Lara hugged each of them again. When she reached Tomas, she paused. He didn't move at first until she wrapped her arms around him, and he let her. Just for a second. Just enough to remember. Then she boarded. The train doors closed, the whistle blew, and she was gone. Tomas didn't express any sentiment. He didn't mutter, just stood there, watching the train disappear into the distance, feeling like something important had left with it. And this time, no one tried to explain it away. Absurdingly, just when Lara left, Ms. Černý had decided to stay behind in Czech, but only briefly. A few weeks later, she left too, but no real explanation, just a forwarded address and a vague goodbye. It left the three of them confused, but no one asked questions. Some people leave. Some people don't come back.