I take a sip of my coffee, my eyes scanning the front page of the newspaper without reading a word of it. Something about terrorist attacks, I think. Same old fearmongering, different day. Nothing’s changed in twenty years – even on a day of celebration like Christmas, the front page is always full of fear. 

I toss the paper to the corner of the room, hearing it land amongst the rest of the discarded news stories that have no bearing on my life. I lift my mug to my lips again, sipping as the steam fogs my glasses. The lack of sugar doesn’t bother me anymore; I’ve grown used to the taste. Some days, it’s not bitter enough. 

I turn my head to the small window looking out into the ocean, and I notice that my muscles have been tense. I relax them, watching the waves crash against the rocks at the foot of my lighthouse. 

I’m not sure why I even bother collecting the papers from my doorstep anymore, when all I ever do is toss them aside and spend my morning watching the waves instead. My wife was the one who read the papers, always going on about whatever new war had started, which countries were having a pointless argument about imports and whatnot, or whomever was murdered by a crazed gunman on the weekend. 

I sigh, finishing my coffee and walking to the pot to pour myself another. A second mug stands on the bench, untouched, growing colder by the second. I spend so long gazing at it that I overfull my mug, the hot coffee spilling out over my hand. I hiss in pain, dropping the mug and barely hearing it shatter as I rush to the sink and shove my hand under the cold, running water. I let out a sigh of relief, looking down at the mess on the floor. 

“Happy holidays,” I mutter to myself, turning the tap off and examining my hand. A bit of redness, but nothing serious. 

I clean up the mess, my bones creaking with every movement, sitting back down at the dining table after I was done. Today wasn’t a special day for me, like it was for everyone else. I would do the same routine as every other day. Maintenance work, weather reporting, and sitting around once the work was done. 

Yet, I couldn’t bring myself to move from where I sat, just staring at that mug on the counter. Remembering last Christmas. 

Despite my insistence that Christmas was just another ordinary day for us, my wife crocheted me a pair of gloves. Dainty little things that wouldn’t keep the cold out and certainly weren’t a fashion statement, but she looked so proud. Told me that was the first thing she ever crocheted properly. Urged me to try them on immediately. 

I wore them for months, just so I could see her smile whenever she saw me with them on. 

I wish I had given her something in return. 

I look at them now, the pair hanging above the mantlepiece, just on top of the picture of us together, arms around each other at the entrance to the lighthouse. 

A long, drawn-out sigh escapes my lips, and I finally stand, mustering what little drive I have to continue my duties. 

I don’t get far before there’s a knock at the door. 

I frown, turning and shuffling towards it, picking up a steel bat as I go. If it’s those teenagers again with their pestering, they’re going to get a nice surprise. 

I twist the handle, letting the door slowly open by itself, a gust of cold wind funnelling inside. I cover my face, my bat still raised. 

“Hi, dad.” 

My heart practically stops. I slowly take my hand away from my face, looking outside with wide open eyes. 

“Lorelei?” 

She smiles at me, draped in coats and a huge scarf, standing out in the cold. “Yup.” 

“Well, come in already! It’s freezing outside,” I bluster, stepping aside and dropping the bat to the ground. She obliges, quickly walking inside, and I shut the door behind her. “What’re you doing here?” 

“I felt like coming to visit, that’s all.” She brushes her coat off, removing her scarf and placing it on the coat rack on top of my own coat. 

“Don’t you live a few hours away?” 

“Seven hours. Drove through the night.” 

“Why?” 

She shrugged. “I just thought it was about time I came to see you. Needed a break from the kids, too, so this was a good excuse.” 

I chuckled, leading her to the kitchen. “Coffee?” 

“Yes please. But not too hot.” 

I walk to the pot and grab a new mug, but stop myself. I look at the mug already on the counter, not steaming, but still warm. I look back at my daughter before taking the mug and placing it on the table in front of her. 

“Thanks. Sorry I didn’t get you a gift, by the way. I know you don’t do Christmas.” 

I just smile and pull her into an embrace. “You being here is the greatest gift I could ask for.”