Christmas is a family affair. Ask anyone. Watch any ad on TV, all those bright-eyed children clustered around Santa or holiday trees. Look at all the marketing crowding your inbox, the endless sale flyers in the mail. Cassie was part of a family of two—herself and her partner, Ray—and at this season, that didn’t count.

Just ask her mother, Glenda, who couldn’t get through a two minute conversation without dropping a hint about her desire for grandchildren, never mind that Cassie and Ray had been trying for four years. Just ask her boss, Craig, who figured Cassie wouldn’t mind working on Thanksgiving and Christmas and working double shifts during the season because she didn’t have kids. For that matter, just ask Ray, who figured since she had to work, he could go out with his friends, staggering home drunk at two a.m..

What it all added up to, on an icy night just three days before Christmas, was that Cassie was sitting in her cruiser waiting for backup before responding to yet another domestic, feeling as dark as the night around her.

On the way here she’d driven past the manger scene on the church lawn, all those figures gathered around an empty manger, waiting for Christmas Eve, when the baby would finally be installed. It always felt so sad to her, more so this year when she had an empty crib still in cardboard in her garage.

When the latest round of IVF had failed, after the miscarriage that crushed her heart, she’d told Ray it was time to think about adoption. It had been a hard decision to come to, but she wanted to be a mother and all other avenues now seemed to be closed. Ray’s response had disappointed but not surprised her: a flat no way. If he was going to have a kid, he wanted it to be his kid, not some stranger’s. Raising kids was too much work to spend it on some kid no one else wanted, a kid that was probably damaged anyway.

When Cassie looked toward her future, taking in Ray’s disinterest in somehow making a family, she saw that probably it would be not just herself in a family of two, but herself all alone. Could you be a family of one?

Truth was that she’d started the adoption process a year ago, when she’d had the last miscarriage. Started it as a single person since she knew, even then, that Ray wouldn’t be on board. Started it because it could take forever to get a child and Cassie wasn’t getting any younger.

She swiped away a tear as her backup, lights blazing, pulled in behind her. Together, they headed up the slippery walk toward a house where music was shaking the walls and waking the neighbors, and a brawling couple’s screams were louder than the music.

She banged on the door and yelled, “Police.” Once. Twice. They probably couldn’t hear over the music and their own voices. She tried the knob. Unlocked. She and a young officer named Milt Schmidt let themselves in.

In the front room, a Christmas tree lay on its side surrounded by broken ornaments and smashed toys. Toys meant children in the house, which made the situation far worse.

Schmidt hesitated, staring at the mess.

“You’re going to see a lot of this, this year, and in the years ahead,” Cassie said. “Holidays do not bring out the best in people.”

“Jesus, Cassie,” was all he said. 

He’d learn. Get a handle on it or the job would eat him alive.

She headed deeper into the house. Likely they were in the kitchen, which wasn’t good. Kitchens were extremely dangerous places. When a couple confronted each other in the heat of anger in a kitchen, there were way too many objects around that could become weapons. So of course she found them there, a man so intoxicated he could barely stand. A huge man, an easy three hundred pounds, shirtless, his head and body covered in thick, reddish hair. His face was just as red. His big hand was wrapped around a lethal-looking cleaver.

Cassie hated knives. People with knives were so unpredictable and it was usually happening in close quarters where using a gun was unsafe or where the subject could reach her with a knife before she could get off a shot. Without taking her eyes off the man, she got out her taser. Another wild card. Sometimes, when the subject was heavy like this, a taser wouldn’t be enough.

Across the island stood a woman in a torn nightgown. Small. Pretty, or she would be if not for the black eye, smeared makeup, and blood from her nose. Maybe half the man’s size or less. She was also holding a knife.

Despite their presence, neither man nor woman seemed to have noticed two police officers in the doorway. He was yelling something at her and she was yelling back. His voice was huge, a bellow. Hers sharp and shrill.

Both of them were bleeding. Cassie said, “Police! Drop those knives,” and got no response.

To Milt, she said, “See if you can disarm the woman and get her out of here. And don’t get too close, understand? Knives.”

She didn’t look to see if he was complying. His timidity was annoying but right now, she didn’t have the bandwidth to babysit a scared rookie. She had to get this man disarmed.

“Sir,” she called in a loud voice. “Police. I need you to put down the knife.”

He turned then, staring at her, then shook his head like someone coming out of a trance. He didn’t drop the knife.

She could almost see his brain working, trying to decide on his next move. Charge her? Charge Milt? Charge the woman? Throw something? The floor was littered with broken crockery. It crunched underfoot as she moved.

“Sir?” she repeated. “Police officer. I need you to drop that knife.”

He bellowed again and charged, fast on his feet for such a big man.

Cassie sidestepped and tased him. She was also fast on her feet.

He went down with an enormous crash.

Whew! The taser had worked. For now. While he was still stunned, she kicked the knife away from his hand and cuffed him, her cuffs barely fitting around his wrists. Then she called for backup. It would take more than herself and Milt to handle this guy and the woman.

The man secured for now, she shifted her focus to Milt and the woman. Milt was still a distance away from her, trying to coax her to give up the knife. Cassie’s reading was that without the man as a focus for her anger, she was likely to shift it to Milt. 

“Just tase her, Milt,” Cassie said. “She’s not hearing you.”

“I don’t want—”

As far as he got before the woman charged.

Cassie elbowed Milt aside, grabbed a rolling pin from the kitchen island, and swung it down on the woman’s outstretched arm. The knife dropped. The woman screamed, then stood there glaring at Cassie, clutching her injured arm.

“The knife, Milt,” Cassie ordered. “Get the knife.”

He stared at her, unmoving, while she kicked the knife far from the woman’s reach.

“Now cuff her.”

“But her arm is . . . and she’s almost naked.”

Cassie cut him off. “You’re gonna see plenty of that in this job. Look, she came at you with a knife, Milt. You want to give her a second chance?”

She was shaking. Domestics were always the worst. Domestics and abused children. Oh, and crib deaths. Actually, there was little about the job that wasn’t bad except the people she worked with, and occasionally someone she helped. She liked her fellow cops. Even baby cops like Milt. If he stuck with it, he could become a fine officer. If being charged by a nearly naked, knife-wielding woman didn’t discourage him.

“I’m going to check upstairs, see if there are kids in the house. You cuff her, then find a way to turn off that music. Okay?”

Okay because he was shaking, too.

“Take a few slow, deep breaths, Milt. It really does help.”

Cassie waited until the he had cuffs on the woman, then left him guarding the two brawlers in the kitchen and climbed the stairs.

Yes. There were children. A small boy who looked about three, crouched in the corner of his bedroom with a pillow over his head, and a wailing baby with a sodden diaper. 

“It’s okay. It’s okay. The fight is over. You’re safe,” Cassie told the boy as she carried the baby to a changing table. Only one diaper left and no clean clothes. She fished the least damp and smelly clothes from the overflowing laundry basket and changed and dressed the baby. Maybe the mom worked and hadn’t had time to do laundry? It was a nice house. Nice things. Or had been before tonight’s carnage.

From downstairs, she heard the sounds of more help arriving.

Still carrying the baby, she approached the little boy and crouched down near him. “I’m Cassie,” she said. “I’m a police officer. I’m here to help you. What’s your name?”

He stared at her a while, then said, “Owen.”

“That’s a nice name. And what’s the baby’s name?”

“Ellie. Eleanor. She’s my little sister.” He dropped the pillow he was holding. “My dad and mom were fighting. They do that a lot.”

“I’m sorry. I know that’s scary.”

He was too little to be able to answer most of her questions, like whether there was a relative nearby who could take the kids while mom and dad went to jail. She needed to ask the mom before patrol took her away.

“I’m going downstairs for a minute,” she said, “but I’ll be right back, okay?”

He gave her a sweet smile. “Okay. Then can you read me a story? Mom didn’t read me one tonight and I really like a story.”

Oh those killer big brown eyes! How could she say no?

She couldn’t put the baby back in the crib. The sheets were wet and smelly, so she kept it on her hip while she went to speak with the mom.

The woman was sitting on a chair now and Milt had found some kind of throw to put over her. 

The woman glared at Cassie as she approached and growled, “What are you doing with my baby?”

Ignoring that, Cassie said, “Ma’am, is there a relative or a friend who can take the kids?”

More glaring but no reply.

“You know you’re going to jail,” Cassie said, “because you tried to attack a police officer with a knife. So you need to make some provision for your children, don’t you?”

“I need to go to the hospital. I’m hurt.”

“You will. In the company of a police officer. As will your husband. So . . . the children?”

Christ. She had been here so many times. So many. This woman was lucky enough to have a family. Two beautiful little children. And she was screwing it up so badly. Much as Cassie tried to keep her personal life separate from her professional life, sometimes her anger got past her firewall. She tried a few of those deep, slow breaths she’d advised Milt to take.

She said, “I’d rather not have to call social services if it can be avoided. Once your children are in the state’s care, things can get so complicated. So, I’ll ask again. Is there someone who can take your kids?”

In a haughty tone, as though she was doing Cassie a favor, the woman said, “You may call my sister. She’ll be happy to take them. She doesn’t have kids so she always jumps at a chance to take Owen and Ellie.”

Cassie hoped the sister was a better aunt than this woman was a mother. She took out her notebook, awkward with a baby on her hip, and said, “Your sister’s phone number?”

The sullen woman shrugged and the throw Milt had put over her slipped. She didn’t seem to care. “I can’t remember,” she said. “It’s in my phone.”

Cassie wondered how often this woman had called on her sister to take the kids. She figured often. And she couldn’t remember her sister’s number? “And where is your phone?”

Another shrug. “It’s somewhere. I don’t know. Steven threw it across the room while we were fighting.” She waved a vague hand toward the doorway. “In the living room somewhere.”

Cassie looked at Milt, who was helping two patrol officers trying to get the man named Steven on his feet and out the door. “Milt, can you look in the living room for that phone?”

A small voice from the doorway said, “Mama, you didn’t read me a story.” The little boy had come downstairs.

Cassie cringed at the thought of him walking through the living room with all that broken glass and plastic on the floor. At least he was wearing footie pajamas. Before he came into the kitchen, with an equally dangerous floor, she crossed to the door and scooped him up. Now she had a child on each hip. Not a safe situation, especially with the unstable woman on the chair, handcuffed but still mobile.

Milt followed the other officers out. She could hear him moving around in the other room, searching for that phone.

“Mama,” the small boy said. “Where are your clothes?”

“Daddy and I had a fight and they got torn.”

“He sounded real mad. Did he hit you again?”

The woman sighed. “He always hits me, sweetie. You know that.”

In the presence of her kids, she seemed to be pulling herself together. But Cassie wondered about a woman who stays with a violent man and subjects her children to a night like this. Not an uncommon occurrence, it sounded like.

Milt returned with the phone, held it up to the woman’s face so it opened, and said, “What’s your sister’s name?”

She gave the information and he dialed the number, holding the phone so she could speak. She said, “Mattie? It’s Anne. Uh . . . Steven and I had a fight and . . . uh . . . I have to go down to the police station. Uh . . . can you take the kids?”

They watched her as she listened, then she said, “No. No. Not tomorrow. Now. I have to go down there now. Steven’s been arrested.”

They could hear the woman on the other end saying that it served him right and maybe now Anne and the kids could have a quiet Christmas. And then the question, Why did it have to be now? 

The woman named Anne sighed, then said, “Because I’m being arrested, too.”

They didn’t have to strain to hear the sister’s “Christ, Annie. What did you do?”

The woman on the chair was silent, and then, very quietly, she said, “I tried to attack a police officer with a knife.”

There was silence on the phone. Finally, the sister, Mattie, said, “Oh, crap, Annie. When are you going to grow up and get a handle on that temper of yours? Okay. I’ll be over in . . . hmm . . . maybe ten minutes. But I’m bringing the kids back here with me. I am not trying to care for them at your place. I know you, remember? There will be no food and no clean clothes and probably not even clean diapers for poor little Ellie.”

Milt looked at Cassie and she nodded. She hadn’t looked in the fridge, but the laundry and diaper assessment was right on.

Milt brought the woman—Annie—upstairs to dress and then took her down to the station. Cassie stayed behind. She couldn’t leave until the sister came to get the kids, so she settled in on the little boy’s bed, the baby beside her, and read him the story his mother hadn’t. It was Christmas and the book was Mole and Troll Trim the Tree. Cassie remembered liking it when she was a child. She’d just finished it when a voice from downstairs called, “Hello? Hello? Is anybody here?”

Before she replied, there were footsteps on the stairs and a tall woman with flowing dark hair came in. She knelt in the doorway and held out her arms for the boy. “Hey, Owen! You want to come to my house tonight?”

Her house must have been popular, because little Owen flew off the bed and into her arms. With his arms wrapped around the woman’s neck, he began to tell her the story of the evening.

She let him go on a bit, then rose and crossed to Cassie, holding out a hand. “Mattie Hermon,” she said. “I guess my sister fu—uh, screwed up—again?”

“Sergeant Cassie Colebrook,” Cassie said. “I’m afraid so. Does this happen often?”

The woman rolled her eyes. All the answer Cassie needed.

“Thank you for waiting with them. I’m sure you have other places to be.”

Nodding, Cassie picked up the sleeping baby, taking a moment to savor its downy soft head. “Things do get busy around the holidays. I’ll just bring her downstairs for you. Do you need to get anything? Clothes? Toys? Car seats?”

Mattie shook her head. “I’ve got all that stuff at my place. I can never rely on Annie for that. As you’ve probably noticed.”

Cassie had.

She helped the woman get the baby and little Owen settled in the car and watched it drive away. Sighing, she went back inside and took some photos of the mess. Then she climbed back in the cruiser and told dispatch she was back in service. The reports on this mess could wait until later.

She wanted to swing by the station, grab some coffee, and see if Milt was working on his reports. But as she drove past the church, glancing as she always did at that manger, she saw that it didn’t look empty. Someone had put something there.

Not her job, really, but pranksters liked to fool around the nativity scenes like this. Put a bottle of booze wrapped in a blanket in the manger. Or four rolls of toilet paper. Once a litter of tiny kittens. So she parked and trudged across the lawn, threading her way between the sheep and the goats, the shepherds and the wise men, until she reached the manger.

Definitely something there, wrapped in an almost colorless old towel. As she looked, the towel seemed to move. Kittens? Puppies? Maybe something less cute. Leaning forward, she reached for the edge of the towel and pulled it toward her.

A tiny pink hand. So, so tiny.

Her breath stopped as she moved closer and gathered the bundle into her arms. She wasn’t unwrapping it here in the icy cold. She carried it back to her cruiser, turned up the heat, and peeled back the towel. She was holding a very tiny baby. Likely just born.

Dammit! There were safe places to leave an unwanted baby. Safe ones, not outside on an icy winter night.

No time to wait for an ambulance. The infant had been here a while. She’d been at that scene for almost two hours. She shoved the car into gear and headed for the hospital, radioing ahead that she was coming and why.

She parked outside the ER and ran inside with the tiny bundle. Two waiting nurses took the baby from her. Cassie followed them into the back, pressing herself against the wall as a doctor examined the baby. Very premature. Low body temperature. They were taking her up to the pediatric ICU.

Cassie called the station and reported what she’d found and where she’d found it. Collected the worn towel as evidence. Then she headed upstairs. The ICUs were guarded by dragons, but everyone knew Cassie and no one made a move to stop her. The nurse at the desk said they’d heard Cassie found the baby in a manger.

“Kind of a Christmas miracle,” she said. “We’ll have to call her Noelle.”

“I was thinking of Gloria,” Cassie said, and the nurse smiled.

It was touch and go for Baby Gloria for weeks, but she rallied, while Cassie spent all her spare time in the ICU, experiencing the magic when Gloria wrapped those tiny fingers around one of hers. Finally holding her when she was ready for that. Spending those quiet hours filling out paperwork and hoping she’d convinced those with the power to grant her wish that she’d be a good mom. So very grateful that she’d taken the time to check that manger. 

Christmas, as her minister reminded her, was a time of miracles.

Finally, at Easter, Cassie brought her miracle Christmas baby home to a neat house with only one occupant—herself. It turned out Ray had had a girl on the side, and now the girl was pregnant, so he would get his wish for a child of his own.

As for Cassie, she was thrilled with the gift of Baby Gloria Noelle, a child as much hers as if she’d given birth herself. The department gave her a baby shower. Milt celebrated the baby’s homecoming with a small stuffed giraffe. And her mother, source of those constant, painful inquiries about when she’d become a grandma, was over the moon and couldn’t wait to be a daycare grannie.

“Next Christmas,” Cassie told her daughter, “I am not working on Christmas Eve. It’s gonna be just you and me, kid.” And Gloria Noelle had given Cassie her huge, gummy smile as though she understood.