Away in a Manger

Immigration, Christmas. 600 words, 3 minute read. With Claude Sonnet.

The barbed wire glinted like a crown of thorns in the desert moonlight. Maria pressed her rosary against her lips, her other hand cradling her swollen belly as each movement sent ripples of pain through her exhausted body. Jose crouched by the fence, fingers probing for weakness, his shoulders tense with the weight of their gamble.

"Madre de Dios," he muttered, finding a gap where the wire had rusted thin. "Aquí, mi vida. But we must hurry." His voice carried the same gentle tone he'd used back home when coaxing injured birds from their garden. That felt like a lifetime ago, before the cartel warnings appeared on their door, before the choice between certain death and desperate flight.

Maria shuffled forward, each step a negotiation with her aching body. The baby kicked – hard – as if sensing her fear. "No más," she whispered, both to the child and to the life they'd fled. Her wedding ring caught the moonlight as she gripped the fence, the gold band a reminder of promises made in a whitewashed church that now felt as distant as the stars above.

The December wind howled across the Texas desert like a coyote's cry, carrying mesquite and memories on its breath. Onwards they walked.

Eventually, Maria's legs buckled, and Jose caught her against his chest, his heart hammering a desperate rhythm she could feel through his thin jacket.

"Mira," he breathed, gesturing toward a shadow rising from the desert floor in the distance. "Un granero. Podemos descansar allí."

The barn's interior smelled of hay and horse sweat, a symphony of soft shuffles and gentle snorts welcoming them. A mare in the nearest stall stretched her neck over the gate, dark eyes watching as Maria eased herself down into a bed of fresh straw. Her water broke as she settled, and the fear in her eyes sparked something fierce in Jose's chest.

"Debería buscar ayuda," he said, already knowing her answer. “I should get help.”

"No." Maria grabbed his wrist, her fingers leaving half-moon impressions in his skin. "No podemos. Ya viene el bebé." Another contraction seized her, and she bit back a cry. "Besides," she added with a ghost of her old humor, "San José didn't abandon María in Belén, did he?"

Jose's laugh caught in his throat. "Ay, mi reina, always with the jokes." He knelt beside her, pressing his forehead to hers. "Even now."

The hours blurred into a tapestry of pain and prayer, punctuated by soft encouragement and desperate bargaining with saints. The horses and goats kept vigil, their warm breath fogging the cold air, while overhead, a dove roosted in the rafters, cooing a strange lullaby. Just before dawn, a new sound joined the chorus – their son's first angry cry at finding himself in this complicated world.

"Mírale, mi amor," Jose whispered, cradling their son with hands that trembled. "Tan perfecto. What should we call him?"

Maria looked at their child, born among animals on this holy night, and felt something shift in the universe. "Creo que ya tiene nombre," she said softly. "Jesus."

Above the barn, a star blazed to life with impossible brightness.

---

Two thousand miles away, in a San Francisco tech startup's conference room, three executives paused their quarterly planning meeting, drawn to the window by an inexplicable light.

"I've never seen anything like it," Sarah murmured, the CEO's usual confidence giving way to wonder. "It shouldn't be visible in daylight."

Michael, the CTO, frowned at his tablet's star chart app. "It's not supposed to be there at all. But it seems to be pointing somewhere." His finger traced a line across the screen. "Somewhere in Texas."

Lisa, the CFO, felt something ancient and familiar stir in her bones as she watched the star pulse. She closed her eyes, sent a quick prayer, and made a decision.

"The company jet's fueled and ready. Let's go."

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