Without giving it any thought, I pulled over to assist an elderly couple with a flat tyre on a snowy highway. After a week, my mother frantically called and yelled, “Stuart! How were you unable to inform me? Immediately turn on the television. Everything changed at that point.

I’m a single father of the most adorable seven-year-old child, and like most single parents, I didn’t anticipate this kind of life.

When Emma was three years old, her mother departed. She just said she “needed space,” packed her bag, and left one day.

I assumed she would return, but a week later she stopped returning my calls, and a month later she was completely gone.

I’ve since perfected French and dragon braids and learnt how to behave at a teddy bear tea party. Although it hasn’t been simple at all, my parents have offered assistance whenever they can. My village is them.

My parents always fill such days with so much warmth and noise that the empty areas feel smaller, even though holidays might sometimes feel a little empty around the edges.

Something unexpected happened on the way to my folks’ place for Thanksgiving.

In thin, powdery sheets, the season’s first snowfall fell. Under it, the highway glistened like powdered sugar.

Sitting behind me, Emma was already well into what she proudly refers to as her “Holiday Warm-Up Season.” She was humming “Jingle Bells” and tapping her boots against the seat.

Just before I saw the ancient car pull over on the shoulder, I gave her a smile in the rearview mirror.

The automobile appeared to have withstood too many winters. An old couple stood next to it, their jackets so thin the wind cut right through them.

The man gazed blankly at a completely flat, sagging tyre. I could see the woman trembling from the road as she stroked her arms.

They were heavy, tired, and defeated, and it was evident how exhausted they were.

I stopped right away.

“Stay in the car, sweetheart,” I said to Emma.