In a fifth-floor room of one of the city's most upscale hotels, a broken, shattered, naked girl pulled her knees up to her chin, wrapped her arms around her legs, and cried.

She cried as children all over the city woke up and ran excitedly to their living rooms to see what Santa had brought them.

She cried as early morning turned into late.

She cried as late morning turned into early afternoon.

She cried as the sun set and families began sitting down to Christmas dinner.

She didn't notice as the scotch tape holding up one of the cardboard reindeer, put up two weeks earlier by a woman now on a bus halfway across Nebraska, came unstuck and the smiling cartoon creature thunked to the floor.

Eventually, she ran out of tears. She wanted to keep crying, but it seemed like her tear ducts must've dried up or something.

She shakily got out of bed, stumbled into the bathroom, and cleaned herself up.

Re-emerging several minutes later, she hastily pulled on underwear, jeans, a sweatshirt, and her jacket. The rest of her clothes, with one exception, were shoved into her backpack. The exception was a certain black dress, which she balled up and threw into the wastebasket. She walked over to the bed, picked up and crumpled the hateful piece of paper, and sent it to the same fate that she'd dispatched the dress to.

She put her hand on the room's doorknob... hesitated... turned around. Going back to the bed, she picked up the small silver frame and smashed it against the corner of the nightstand. Carefully, she pulled the slivers of glass away, reached in, and withdrew the picture, which she folded in half and stuck in one of the inside pockets of her jacket.

As she turned to leave, she spotted the two hardcover books. After another slight hesitation, she grabbed them up and jammed them into her pack.

She slung the backpack over one shoulder and strode through the door without another backward glance.