This is not a fairy tale, although it may sound like one, because it begins the way many fairy tales do—once upon a time. About 20 years ago, the Manila Bulletin Kids Section carried a special “Dear Santa” column during the Christmas season. Letters poured in from children asking for toys, vacations, good grades, or simple childhood wishes.

One letter, however, stood apart. It was not written by a child but by a mother. And it spoke not of wants, but of desperation—of a need many of us take for granted every Christmas and New Year’s Eve: a simple noche buena.

The woman signed her letter “Gloria.” She explained how she found “Santa’s address” through a letter her son had written to the Dear Santa column. What pushed her to write, she said, was a situation she had never imagined she would face. Abandoned by her husband—a construction worker who had found another partner where he was assigned—Gloria was left to raise her son on her own.

“If my son believes in Santa, so should I,” she wrote in Tagalog.

Her son was only 14 years old then, yet he was already helping support the family by working part-time as a waiter. In his letter to Santa, he asked not for toys or gifts, but for more waitering jobs so he could earn money.

Gloria’s own request was modest and heartbreaking in its simplicity. She asked for enough money to buy food for noche buena. Believing Santa would answer her, she carefully drew a map to her home—a street corner inside a cluster of houses along Sumulong Highway in Antipolo, behind a sari-sari store she clearly marked.

I had no idea where that place was. I handed Gloria’s letter to a good friend—the only person I knew at the time who lived in Antipolo. He was Andrew “Bibot” Gotianun, then senior vice president of Filinvest Development Corporation. Tito Andrew, as my children called him, had a house in Antipolo where we often visited during summers and before year’s end.

He said nothing when I gave him the envelope, simply placing it quietly on his desk.

That was early December. Life went on, and I soon forgot about Gloria and her letter.

Then sometime in January, I received another letter—still sent by mail. Gloria was writing to thank Santa Claus. Someone had provided her noche buena—not on Christmas Eve, but just before New Year’s Eve.

She wrote:

“Noong Dec. 30, may tumawag sa akin mula sa sari-sari store dahil may naghahanap daw sa akin. Nakasuot ang lalaki ng asul na polo barong at may dala siyang malaking basket ng mga pagkain. Itinanong niya ang pangalan ko at kung ako ba ang sumulat kay Santa Claus. Noong sumagot ako ng oo, ibinigay niya sa akin ang basket at isang sobre na may lamang pera. (On Dec. 30, someone from the sari-sari store called me because a man was looking for me. He wore a blue polo barong and carried a big basket of food. He asked my name and if I was the one who wrote to Santa Claus. When I said yes, he handed me the basket and an envelope with money.)

“Salamat po, Santa! Maraming salamat! Totoo ka pala! (Thank you very much, Santa. Now I know you are real!)”

My friend never told me he sent his driver to Gloria. But I suspected it was him. First, he was the only person I gave the letter to. Second, his driver always wore a polo barong.

When I thanked Andrew for bringing Christmas magic to a mother who dared to believe, he only smiled. He neither confirmed nor denied it. (My friend passed away a few years ago.)

And that is how the spirit of Christmas works—quietly, without recognition. When acts of kindness are done in silence, the Christmas spirit does not end with Dec. 25. It lingers.

May you, too, find a Santa Claus during this season of kindness, as Gloria did—just before New Year’s Eve.