“Santa did not come this year,” Faith cried as she looked under their crumbling brown tree. The smell of smoke and alcohol penetrated throughout the entirety of the old, musty trailer. Faith, a six-year-old, was living in a trailer park with her drunk of a mother and abusive step father. Hardships were common in Faith’s daily life but she never truly realized her broken family until holidays crept around. Most children wake up with beautifully wrapped presents with smiling faces and family all around. Faith’s Christmas morning was different. Running from her room, she peered into the living room where her mother was laying on the couch passed out cold from the night before. Thoughts swarmed her head, wishing she was born into a wealthy family with a better mom who actually cared about her.

I wish my mom cared about me.

Why do I have to go through this?

Does God hate me?

Does Santa come to everyone else?

Tears started to form in her bright blue eyes and roll down her cheeks as she walked slowly to her dark empty room. Maybe next year she hoped, wishing her mom would love and care for her and give up alcohol. She wished her step father would give up alcohol too and stop hitting when he gets angry at his job or my mom.  Then maybe Santa would find her she claimed, but until then I cared for myself and did the best I could to make a better future for myself than my mom ever did for herself. Next year, she wished.