Our Christmas Sister Angel · [Chapter: 5]

A gentle tale about the rebirth of mercy, second chances, the warmth of Christmas, and the meaning of being family.

If you’d like to walk this warm path from the very beginning and read the story from its first chapter, you can start [here] and follow the links within each part until you find your way back to this moment again.

To read the chapter that comes just before this one, kindly click [here].

Chapter : [5]:
Mercy is the Christmas gift :

 
 

The five brothers sat in heavy silence, each of them drowning in his own troubled thoughts.
Their end felt closer with every heartbeat.

A thousand questions spun like shards of glass in their minds.
What if the fight video spread? What if everyone saw what happened? How could they ever face the world again?
That footage, if leaked, would hand this girl fame and fortune on a silver platter. What a golden  opportunity had fallen right into her lap, here in this remote corner of Novaris!

But what could they bargain with? Money?
Any amount they offered would be far less than what she could earn if she sold it to the press. Not  to mention the wave of attention and recognition…

Oh God.
This new disaster could truly mark their end.

The questions whirled endlessly, clawing at them.
And with Angela absent in the kitchen for so long, their unease only deepened.

Yet soon, the warm fragrance of food began to drift into the room.
The scent alone seemed to soften the tight knot of fear in their chests, drawing their shoulders  down, if only a little.



At last, Rein broke the silence.
“We’ll ask her to delete the video in exchange for money. She looks like a kind girl… I don’t think  she’ll refuse.”

Sorin gave him a withering glare.
“Are you stupid? If you were in her shoes, would you delete it? Would you let a golden chance like  this slip through your fingers?”

Finally, Milo spoke, his tone bitter.
“Looks like tonight is her lucky night. By tomorrow, she’ll be trending worldwide.”
He dropped his head into his hands with a sigh of despair.
“It’s over. Everything’s over.”



Then Angela appeared again, after what felt like an eternity.
She emerged from the kitchen carrying a great steaming pot that filled the air with the rich scent of  stew.

But she did not set the pot before any of them.
Instead, she carried it toward the large table in the far corner, the one by the fireplace that could  seat more than eight.

With gentle words, she invited them to move there.
Yet when she turned back, she froze—
the brothers were staring at her, as though words pressed against their lips, begging to be spoken.

Angela stood in the middle of the room, meeting their eyes.
At last she broke the silence.
“Why are you looking at me like that? You all seem so troubled… Did I upset you somehow?”

The brothers quickly averted their gazes, shame flooding their faces.

Finally, Cian spoke, his voice hesitant.
“Mm… that video, Miss.”

Angela blinked, confused.
“What video are you talking about?”

Milo swallowed and explained.
“The video from the surveillance cameras. You said you saw everything from the beginning… That  footage—”

Sorin cut in sharply.
“Listen, Miss. We’ll pay you whatever you ask. Just delete the video and don’t let it spread.”

Angela’s beautiful eyes widened in shock.
For a heartbeat, she simply stared at them, speechless.

Then, at last, she asked quietly, 
“So that is why you all look so disturbed?”


The five brothers bowed their heads, shame written on their faces.
Each of them prayed silently, desperately, that she would accept their offer.


But when Angela gathered herself, she said nothing.
She merely gestured for them to follow.

Still in silence, they obeyed.

She led them behind the counter, to her small office where the screens showed every camera in the  restaurant.
Without hesitation, she pulled up the last 24 hours of footage.
And then, with a single firm motion—

she pressed 
Delete.

The video was gone!.


In the same breath, she unplugged the cables to the interior cameras, reached for the switch, and  turned off the glowing sign outside.
Finally, she crossed to the entrance and hung a simple wooden board: Closed.

All this she did in seconds, as though it had been decided long ago.

When she turned back, the brothers were frozen in place, staring at her in utter disbelief.
Time itself seemed to pause.

Why hadn’t she bargained?
Why had she looked so baffled by their fear in the first place?
Why? Why? Why?

Angela brushed the snow from her apron and returned to them with calm finality.
“No one will come in now,” she said softly.
“You can sit, and eat however you like. I’ll bring the rest of the food.”


And she passed right through them—
between their stunned silence and wide eyes—
and slipped back into the kitchen.



The brothers remained standing, unmoving, for several minutes.
At last, almost reluctantly, they shuffled toward the great table where the steaming pot waited.


They sat down side by side.
Without realizing it, Milo and Sorin sat together—just as they had done since childhood.
Across from them were Cian, Rein, and Tavin.

Silent.
Bewildered.

For the first time in years, someone was treating them with such mercy.
Such tenderness.

They were used to something very different.
Every breath counted. Every move scrutinized. Every whisper analyzed.
Even their sleep had been monitored.
The world waited for them to stumble—just once—so it could turn their mistakes into spectacle.

Everyone judged them.
Everyone demanded perfection.
No one cared that they were simply human ,just young men chasing their dream.

For years, criticism struck them harder than bullets — yet they stood, bulletproof, even as they felt pain and harm.
Harsh words cut deeper than knives.
People sought only to profit from them, to rise on their shoulders — never pausing to wonder what the brothers had endured.
For years, no one had shown them mercy.
For years, no one had covered their flaws with grace.
Everybody around them — even their own families — treated them as tools, as machines, as charts and products made to generate profit and money, forgetting that they were nothing more than fragile souls — merely human beings.
The cameras recorded their laughter, their shine.
But no one saw their tears.
No one saw the exhaustion, the breakdowns, the loneliness.
The sleepless nights, the endless training, the arguments born of pressure and fatigue.

People saw the music videos, the smiles, the glittering suits—
but not the hospitals, the panic attacks, the managers shouting through headsets.
Not the days when their bodies begged for rest, and rest was a luxury they couldn’t afford.

No one saw the way they clung to each other backstage,
breathing together, grounding each other before walking into another storm of flashing lights.
No one saw the moments when one of them almost fainted mid-performance,
and the others covered it with a perfect dance move—because the show had to go on.

They had become experts at hiding pain behind practiced smiles,
at turning heartbreak into harmony,
and exhaustion into another perfect performance.

Their world looked golden from afar,
but up close, it was cracked glass—
sharp, cold, and ready to cut anyone who dared to touch it.

They had danced on aching legs.
Sung through burning throats.
Smiled for cameras that never slept.
While somewhere deep inside, the light was fading—
not from lack of fame, but from lack of rest.

Even joy became something they had to schedule.
Even peace became something they rehearsed.


Until tonight.
Until this magical Christmas night.

A guardian angel had appeared.

An angel, like those who once brought tidings of joy to shepherds under a winter sky in the old story.
An angel wrapped in December snow, carrying warmth like fire against the bitter cold.

An angel who felt like an older sister—
covering her younger brothers’ mistakes so they would not be punished.

Mercy, unexpected.
Mercy, undeserved.

Their eyes began to glisten, each brother fighting to hold back tears they hadn’t shed in years.

They had forgotten what love felt like.
They had forgotten the taste and meaning of Mercy.
They had forgotten what brotherhood truly meant.

And now—
through the simple kindness of a stranger—
their hearts were pulled back to the innocence of childhood.

Not a single word was spoken.
Only silence…
and eyes shimmering with tears that refused to fall.

Then Angela returned.

She came out of the kitchen carrying the meal.
The fragrance filled the room, rich and warm.

The smell alone was enough to melt the frost clinging to their jackets.
It was beef and vegetable stew, slow-cooked until the meat fell apart at the touch of a spoon.
Carrots, potatoes, and parsnips floated in the rich broth, their edges softened like velvet.
Hints of rosemary and thyme lingered in the steam, wrapping around the boys like a gentle embrace.

In the center of the table was a pot, accompanied by a basket of warm buttered rolls with golden, cracking crusts. The butter melted instantly into the fluffy insides, dripping down their fingers.

It wasn’t a grand feast—nothing polished or extravagant.
But it was the kind of meal that filled not just the stomach, but the heart.
The kind of food one remembered from childhood winters, when the world outside was harsh and frozen, but the kitchen smelled like love.

Alongside the stew, she placed a few homely side dishes, each glowing with warmth:

A small casserole of baked macaroni and cheese, the top golden and bubbling, edges crisp just right. When the spoon dipped in, strings of melted cheddar stretched like sunlight caught between clouds.
A bowl of buttered peas, sprinkled with fresh mint—their brightness cutting through the richness of the stew, refreshing every bite.
A tray of roasted root vegetables—parsnips, carrots, and sweet potatoes caramelized at the edges, their natural sweetness drawn out by the slow heat.
And at the center, a warm apple crumble, its cinnamon scent rising like a promise of comfort. The golden topping gave way with a crunch to soft, spiced fruit beneath.



The table wasn’t grand, nor crafted by some perfection-chasing chef.
It was simply food that said, without words:

You are Safe. 
You are Home.





............To be continued in “chapter : 6  ” tomorrow.
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