December 24th
Chapter 24 — Light in the Darkness
Christmas Eve in Edinburgh fell soft and white. The snow drifted gently down, catching in Kateryna’s hair and melting against her coat, a second-hand woollen thing from the shelter — warm, practical, lined in soft fleece. The boots on her feet were sturdy and dry. A small rucksack was slung over her shoulder, all she owned now tucked neatly inside.
She walked with purpose, weaving through the early shoppers and the half-hearted carollers outside the cafés. Children tugged on gloves, parents carried bags. The city was dressed in lights, its stone buildings softened by snow, its noise muted by cold.
For the first time in months, she didn’t feel like she was being watched. No footsteps echoing behind her, no eyes tracing her movements. The air smelled of cinnamon and cloves. She tasted freedom with every breath.
Her flight left in a few hours. The shelter had given her just enough money for the tram to the airport, a packed lunch for the journey, and a hug from one of the volunteers that still lingered in her chest. Her passport, zipped safe inside her coat pocket, felt heavier than gold.
As she turned onto a quieter street, she saw the old church. Its stone archway framed a pair of open doors, and from within came the faint sound of singing — not full hymns, just the hush of voices warming the space. Without thinking, Kateryna stepped inside.
The warmth hit her first. Then the scent of wax and pine. The little church was lit with flickering candles and a few simple garlands. At the front, beside the altar, stood a nativity scene. Wooden figures, hand-painted, arranged with care. A donkey with chipped ears. A shepherd whose crook was glued at the neck. Mary, gazing down at a swaddled child.
It looked almost exactly like the ones from home.
She moved quietly to the votive stand and lit a candle. One small flame among dozens. Its glow felt fragile, but steady.
“For Marta,” she whispered.
She paused.
“For all of them.”
She closed her eyes. For a moment she stood still, letting the silence settle around her, the ache in her chest easing. She thought of her mother’s voice on the phone, hoarse with emotion. Her brother, who had cried. The food that would be waiting. The hugs. The snow on her own street, familiar in its shape.
She would go home changed. But not broken.
When she opened her eyes, the light of the candle trembled, as if moved by spirits.
She stepped back, drew in a slow breath, and whispered to the quiet space around her, to the memory of what she’d endured, and to the girl she had once been.
“I’m a person, not an object. I’m not for sale. I am unbuyable.”
She left the church with her head high.
Outside, the snow kept falling. Not heavy now, but soft. Like a promise.
And Kateryna walked on, toward the tram, toward the airport, and toward the life that was finally, rightfully, hers.
— The End —
