Part 1 — The Woman on Christmas Eve
nearby streetlamps were merely vague, golden smudges in the darkness. Elias Vermeer drove home slowly. It was Christmas Eve. For the first time in years, he had decided not to stay home. Not because he had anywhere to go, but because his apartment had become too quiet. Five years ago, his wife Anna had passed away. Ever since, Christmas had lost its meaning for Elias.
No Christmas tree. No presents. No family dinner. Only a small table set for one and an old photograph of Anna that he tried to put away every year, yet could never bear to hide for more than a few days. Then he saw her. A woman was huddled at a bus stop. She was wearing barely anything to protect against the cold. Her arms were wrapped tightly around her knees, and her entire body trembled.
Elias looked at his dashboard. 9:47 PM. He kept driving. Ten seconds later, he hit the brakes. He looked at the snow striking his windshield. Then he sighed and put the car in reverse. He stepped out and walked up to her. “Excuse me, ma'am?” The woman looked up. Elias froze. Not because he knew her. But because of her eyes. Those eyes. He had seen them in his dreams every single night for five years.
Anna's eyes. Not the same color. Not the same shape. But the very same sorrowful look. “Are you alright?” he asked softly. The woman didn't answer. Elias took off his coat. “Here, take this.” She shook her head. “You'll catch cold.” “I'll survive.” He draped the coat over her shoulders. As he helped her to her feet, he felt something hard inside the inner pocket.
A small metal object. Before he could check, the woman suddenly grabbed his wrist. Her fingers were ice-cold. “You…” she whispered. Elias looked at her. “Yes?” She seemed to want to say something. In the end, she let go of him. “Thank you.” Nothing more. Elias drove home that night without a coat. He thought of her one last time before falling asleep.
By the next morning, she was gone. He didn't know her name. He didn't know where she came from. And he had no idea that this single encounter would change his life forever. Because three years later— once again on Christmas Eve— there was a knock on his door. Elias was fifty-seven by then. He opened the door. The woman from the bus stop was standing before him.
This time, she wore a long black coat. Her hair was neatly groomed. And in her hands, she held a grey box. She looked at him in silence for a few seconds. Then she smiled. Elias felt a shiver run down his spine. “Do you remember that Christmas Eve?” He nodded slowly. “Yes.” The woman held the box out to him. “Then you ought to know why I kept it for three years.” Elias took the box.
“What's inside?” Her smile faded. “Proof that your wife did not die the way you always believed she did.” Elias felt his fingers stiffen around the box. “What did you say?” The woman met his gaze directly. “Anna Vermeer did not die in an accident five years ago.” With that, she turned around. Elias wanted to stop her. Before he could speak, she said: “Do not open the box alone.” Then she walked away.
Elias remained standing in the doorway. Snow was falling again. Just like three years ago. He looked at the grey box. For the first time since Anna's death, he felt something stronger than grief. Fear. He closed the door. Placed the box on the table. Only then did he notice something small carved beneath the lid. Five words. “Do not trust your son.”
