Baubles

Some stories arrive fully formed, like a bauble pulled from the furnace—glowing, fragile, and impossibly warm. Baubles was one of those stories.

I wrote it one winter when I was thinking a lot about loneliness, and the quiet courage it takes to believe that someone out there is looking for the exact piece of you that you've been hiding away.

Rica is a glassmaker with a gift. Her baubles aren't just beautiful—they're enchanted. They find the people who need them, offer protection, healing, and hope. For twenty-four days each December, she opens her barn to the public, and the queue stretches across the car park from dawn until dusk.

But Rica has always believed that her gift comes with a price: a life spent alone.

Every year, her customers find what they're missing. And every year, one bauble remains unsold—a delicate, transparent sphere with a tiny red heart suspended at its centre. A piece of Rica's soul that she didn't know she'd given away.

Baubles is a story about the magic we create, the loneliness we accept, and the moment we finally believe we're worthy of being loved. It's quiet. It's hopeful. And it has a hopeful ending that made me smile while I was writing it.