**The Empty Manger**

Dear Readers,

For as long as I can remember, Christmas has been my favorite time of year. The twinkling lights, the smell of pine, and the crisp air that carried a sense of hope all filled my heart. But what made it truly magical was setting up the Christmas nativity scene with my children. Evan would carefully place the shepherds, and Ivanka, with her tiny, meticulous hands, would position the baby Jesus in the manger. It had been their tradition, something that pulled them all together, every year.

But now, for the third Christmas in a row, I stood alone in his small, dimly lit apartment. The nativity set, once full of meaning and memories, remained tucked away in a dusty box in the corner. I hadn’t touched it in years. Not since the children were taken from me. Without them, there was no Christmas. There was nothing but a space where the joy used to be.

The separation had been sudden, ripping my life apart in ways I hadn’t imagined possible. Circumstances beyond my control had left me isolated and broken, without my kids to fill the days with meaning. Christmas, the time I once treasured most, had become unbearable. There were no lights, no trees, no laughter, and no nativity scene. Without Evan and Ivanka, the holiday ceased to exist.

It was as if a switch had flipped the moment they were gone. The warmth and magic of the season had been drained from my life, leaving me in cold, hollow darkness. I no longer knew the feeling of wrapping gifts or tucking them under a tree, nor the thrill of waking up early to see my children’s excited faces. Christmas songs became too painful to hear, and every time I passed by a decorated window, my heart clenched. What was Christmas without the ones you loved?

I sank into my worn-out chair, gazing at the bare walls. The only light in my apartment came from a small lamp, flickering weakly, as though even it struggled to stay alive. I hadn't heard from my kids in years. I knew they were out there, somewhere, but they felt so far away as if they existed in a different world. And in a way, they did. I imagined them celebrating without me perhaps with someone else, in a new house, with a new tree. It was a thought that twisted the knife deeper into my chest.

Outside, the world moved on as though everything was normal. Families bustled through snow-covered streets, clutching bags full of gifts and groceries, their voices carried on the winter breeze. I pressed my hand to the cold glass and whispered, “Merry Christmas,” but the words tasted bitter on my tongue.

The truth was, that I had forgotten how to celebrate Christmas. Without Evan and Ivanka, it was just another day a day that hurt even more than the others. The emptiness in my home mirrored the emptiness in my heart. For three long years, I had waited, hoped, and prayed that things might change, that somehow, my children would come back to him. That maybe this year, the silence would finally break.

But with every passing December, the hope grew dimmer. I still prayed each night sometimes in desperate whispers that a miracle would bring them back. That this year, I wouldn’t spend Christmas alone. But the days leading up to Christmas were full of reminders of my isolation, and the walls of my small apartment closed in tighter around me with each one.

I glanced at the dusty box in the corner where the nativity scene lay. my hands twitched, aching to open it, to place the figures just like they had before. But what was the point? I couldn’t do it alone. The thought of setting it up without Evan’s careful hands and Ivanka’s bright smile felt like an insult to what they once had.

Still, as the days drew closer, I found myself staring at the box more often. Maybe this year would be different. Maybe this year, he would open it. Maybe this year, a miracle would happen, and Evan and Ivanka would find their way back to him. I didn’t know if I believed in miracles anymore, but what else did I have left but hope?

I whispered a silent prayer, the same one I had been praying for years: that this year, the silence would break. That this year, there would be a knock on my door, and the darkness in my life would be replaced with light once again. But for now, all I could do was wait. Wait, and hope, and pray that somehow, by some grace, this year would finally bring the Christmas I had been longing for.

Jacob M