The wind whipped hard, blowing a fresh powder of snow up into Laura’s face. Laura was a young lady down on her luck in every possible way. No job, no family to go home to, and no means to support herself, all she had to her name now was the clothes on her back - a hooded sweatshirt under a light jacket, a pair of jeans, and her black sneakers - an old backpack, and the remnants of her journal that peeked over the top of her backpack. She kept the pill bottle from her last hormone refill - expended two weeks ago, deep in her jacket pocket.

The people on the street ignored her. After all, what’s one more homeless person when they had their own lives, their own families to think about? With three days until Christmas, and a terrible storm blowing through, it was as if Laura didn’t exist.

As she stumbled through the snow, her face and fingers near-hypothermic, the wind broke enough for her to spot an opening between two boards of an abandoned theater from a time long passed, just across the street. Narrowly evading a taxi driving far too fast for the icy conditions, she sprinted across the street.

Never a large boy growing up - nor a large girl after transitioning, and made smaller from malnutrition since losing her temp job, Laura easily squeezed between the boards. She at least wouldn’t freeze to death tonight, but part of her wondered if, perhaps, freezing to death would be for the best. So preoccupied was she that she didn’t hear her hardback journal’s soft “thump” in the snow, as she crept across broken glass and dead leaves.

She couldn’t have known, as she slowly walked through the dark and empty theater, its stage covered in a thick layer of dust, that she wasn’t alone in the forgotten relic. An old man in a black suit - but no tie, his face dark and weathered by time, his short whiskers a stark contrast of white, but with gentle, concerned eyes, watched the girl come into his theater.

He left no footprints in the snow as he emerged just long enough to pick up the journal. He held it in one hand as the other waved over it. It stopped at a torn page, with a partial letter begun beneath.

“Dear Mom and Dad,” it began. But the next part was scratched out, replaced with, “I’m sorry for what I said,” more words were scratched out still. “I want to-” followed, with ‘come home’ scratched out. “Please help.”

Tear stains - some fresh, dotted the slightly yellowing page. The old man smiled sadly as he turned to step back inside. His legs and torso passed easily through the boards, with no need for him to duck between them.

Inside, he found his new ward fast asleep on the front row, curled up in a ball in one of the theater seats, with her backpack as a pillow. He tucked the journal into his pocket for now - as its role would come before this night was finished. As he stepped up onto the stage, the dust and grime at once was gone, replaced by a bright, new red curtain.

In front of the curtain, stood a small Christmas tree decorated in lights and ornaments. He reached down to plug in the tree, and at once, a set of bright auditorium lights illuminated the area, causing Laura to jolt awake, nearly falling out of her seat.

She looked, with mortal terror, at the old man.

“I’m sorry!” she exclaimed, barely above a whisper, but the old man smiled as he held up a withered hand, his palm open as if to say ‘I’m not done yet’.

She sat and watched quietly as he walked to the side of the stage. A series of strange levers, polished oak with gilded decorations, from what she could tell, stood out against what looked like velvet wallpaper, from her distance, in brilliant red and gold. He began to pull the levers, and before her eyes a spectacular scene opened.

He stepped down off the stage, and the theater seemed to take on a life of its own now. As the auditorium lights fell, a spotlight settled center stage.

Suddenly, Laura felt very different. She looked down, to find herself dressed in a gorgeous red evening gown and heels. Long, white silk gloves covered her arms. Her shoulder length honey blonde hair, though still down, had been styled. She looked as though she were ready for an evening at the opera, or any number of holiday parties no doubt happening now. For a moment, she actually forgot she was starving.

“What is all this?” Laura whispered as the old man approached. He grinned softly at her as he produced from behind his back, a large bowl of popcorn in one hand, a steaming cup of hot cocoa in the other.

He didn’t answer though, instead offering the food to her, and nodded for her to sit again. As he joined her, she heard footsteps on the stage. She looked up to see a woman dressed in an angel costume. Her robes were shimmering silver that obscured her feet entirely. Her wings and halo, while obvious stage props, were of incredible quality to Laura’s eyes.

Most unusual though, was that as Laura ate a bite of popcorn, she suddenly felt much less hungry. She took a sip of cocoa, and instantly the chill left her bones. She began to smile as she settled in, and the angel took her place at the center of the stage within the spotlight. A soft mist began to roll over the stage as the woman spoke.

“And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night.”

As she spoke, the stage began once more to transform. Laura felt almost as though she were being transported to another time and place. The angel had been replaced by shepherds watching sheep. The back curtain had risen now to reveal rolling fields and a night sky full of twinkling stars.

“And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid.

“And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.”

The scene again shifted. The shepherds faded into silhouette and shadows.

“This is amazing,” Laura whispered. The old man smiled as he replied.

“This is only the beginning.”

She looked, surprised, at him as he offered up his hand. In it, he held a small, round object. It was a snow globe. She stared at the delicate glass globe, and he nodded for her to take it.

“Go ahead. Give it a shake.” His soft, good-natured smile had already set her completely at ease, for she had already decided this to be some wonderful dream from which she never wanted to wake.

She took the snow globe and shook it. As she stared more closely though, she realized something. This house looked very familiar. She turned to ask the old man, but he was gone. She stood, and suddenly found herself standing in snow, but she wasn’t cold at all. In fact, she felt very warm. She knew this place. This was her cousin’s house. It was Melissa who first met Laura on a Christmas Eve long ago.

She walked to the window and peeked inside. The angel from before stood inside the house, beside the Christmas tree. She had lost the wings and halo, but still wore the long, silky silver gown, and now bore a wreath of holly on her head. She smiled as she motioned for Laura to come inside, and the door opened on its own.

Laura stepped through the door, and as she approached the woman, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror that sat over the fireplace, just above the stockings. She could now see that she was made up very naturally, except for the shimmering ‘wet’ lipstick. Still, it was her shade, and she did look very naturally female - more than she was used to at any rate.

Upstairs, she could hear her cousin and another child giggling happily. Her eyes widened, and she turned to the woman, who smiled broadly back at her as she approached Laura.

“This was your first Christmas, wasn’t it?” the woman asked.

Laura nodded. “This was ‘Laura’s’ first Christmas. We played for hours with Melissa’s dollies,” Laura said in an almost distant voice. She giggled. “Melissa let me wear the holiday dress she had worn for Thanksgiving. When Auntie found us, she sternly insisted to have a ‘talk’ with Melissa.”

The woman chuckled. “You thought your cousin in trouble?”

Laura nodded again. “I was so scared. Imagine my surprise when Melissa returned wearing her Christmas dress.”

Laura turned away from the woman, just long enough to look - and sure enough, in a silver picture frame on the mantel, she found it: two pretty little girls in holiday dresses. Laura had never in her life smiled and laughed so much as she had that day.

“My parents thought it was just a phase,” Laura said, as the two little girls from the picture raced down the stairs and past them, into the small kitchen. Young Melissa stopped though, turning to look at Laura and the other woman. She grinned as she ran to Laura and, grabbing her hand, pulled her down to hug her.

Tears rolled down Laura’s cheeks as she returned the unexpected gesture. “I miss you Mel,” Laura whispered. Melissa smiled softly and kissed Laura’s cheek..

“We miss you too Laura,” the little girl whispered back. She took Laura’s hand once more, leading her excitedly toward the kitchen.

But, instead of entering the kitchen, Laura suddenly found herself back in the old theater again. Young Melissa tugged on Laura’s hand, back to where the old man was once more sitting. Laura sat down again as Melissa hurried up onto the stage. It was now her turn to shine.

From nowhere, the sounds of a soft harp accompaniment began to play, and Melissa began to sing “Silent Night”. Her cousin Melissa always had such a beautiful, angelic voice. She was quite jealous of it growing up, and teased her about it occasionally.

But Melissa and Laura were practically sisters otherwise. Melissa was, for many years, the only way Laura could be herself, after all, but after Melissa moved away, Laura lost her only outlet. She had planned to move out to California to be with her cousin and her new family, but when she lost her job, and her apartment, those plans went out the window. It didn’t help that she’d spent her life savings on a costly operation barely six months ago.

But now, Laura listened as the little girl sang. Her eyelids though, were growing heavy, and she slowly drifted off to sleep.

Melissa smiled sadly at the sleeping older version of her cousin as she, too, faded into silhouette. The woman approached as the old man stood, and offered to him five crisp, 100 dollar bills.

“Will this be enough?” the woman asked. He nodded, and a small, hand-written note appeared from nowhere, clipped to the bills.

The note simply said, “It’s never too late.”

He placed the bills, sticking out like a bookmark, with Laura’s letter. She once more was curled up in the movie theater seat, dressed in her jeans and hooded sweatshirt, her jacket pulled tightly around her.

He carefully lifted her hand, just enough to place the journal in her hand. She pulled it close to her as she slept, like a security blanket from her childhood, and he turned to walk away from her, slowly ascending the stage stairs. He stopped beside the Christmas tree, knelt, and unplugged the lights. At once, the lights throughout the auditorium went out, waking Laura with a jolt once more.

Her soft gaze darted from one corner of the quiet, dark theater to another. “W-was that a dream?” she whispered. She looked down to confirm she was still dressed as she remembered before coming in here. That’s when she noticed the money sticking out of her journal. Blinking, she slowly pulled it out, staring at the note.

“Oh my God,” she whispered. She thumbed through the bills, and her eyes widened. Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks as she leapt to her feet. The smile on her face could have lit up New York in a blackout.

“Thank you,” she whispered through sobs. “Thank you,” she repeated, and she ran out into the night toward the nearest bus station.

Some three days later, in a quiet snow-covered suburb, a seemingly childless couple decorated their tree half-heartedly. The man had just placed a little angel, dressed in a shimmering silver gown, atop the tree. The woman neatly hung three stockings. Sewn into each was a name - “Mom”, “Dad”, and most importantly, “Laura”.

Outside, a heavy snow fell, blanketing street and sidewalk, leaving heavy drifts against the houses. The silhouette of an 18 year old girl stood, staring in the window from the sidewalk. With tears in her eyes she nervously approached, and opened the door.

She closed the door behind her, getting the couple’s attention. They looked up, startled. The woman froze, staring as though she had just seen a ghost. The man’s eyes widened. His jaw dropped as he ran to her and grabbed her in a tight hug that lifted her off her feet.

“Hi Daddy,” she whispered as her mother now, too, came racing over. Through tears, she sobbed, “I’m sorry,” as she hugged them both close to her. “You’re never going to believe...”

She trailed off as she looked up and saw the angel on the tree. Her eyes widened, and she smiled brightly.

“It doesn’t matter,” she continued. “I’m home now.”

“We’re sorry too honey,” her mother finally found her voice, after checking Laura over. “We should never have forbidden you to have that operation. But you must be starving,” she managed, trying not to cry. “Come into the kitchen and let me get you something to eat, okay?” she doted, without waiting for Laura to answer before grabbing her by the hand and pulling her into the kitchen.

Her father turned to look up at the angel Laura had been staring at before. In truth, he didn’t know where the little angel had come from; it was left on their doorstep three days ago. He smiled at her though. “Thanks. I guess somebody up there really is listening,” he said, as he walked into the kitchen to join his wife - and his new daughter, for a late Christmas Eve dinner.