On Christmas Eve, a wealthy but lonely Dennis stumbles upon a lost eight-year-old boy in the town square.
Haunted by memories of his own childhood, Dennis soon finds his life changing in ways he never expected.
The square was alive with lights and laughter.
Kids zipped around on skates, their cheeks red from the cold.
Couples walked hand in hand, leaning close, bundled up, and smiling. A small group of carolers sang on the corner near the big tree, voices warm even in the chilly air.
I took it all in, trying to feel… something. You’d think a successful guy like me, an orphan who grew up to be a businessman, wouldn’t feel out of place here.
But here I was, alone, like every other holiday season.
I’d had a few relationships over the years, but my partners saw dollar signs, not me.
Suddenly, I felt someone collide with me, and I turned to see a young woman sprawled on the ground, looking up at me with a grin. Her laughter was contagious, and for a split second, I couldn’t help but smile back. She was beautiful, bright-eyed, with a spark that caught me off guard.
“Oops,” she laughed, still sitting there.
“Sorry! Guess I’m not as good on skates as I thought.”
“It’s alright,” I said, offering a hand to help her up. “You sure you’re okay?”
But just as quickly, a tall guy came over, scowling as he pulled her away from me.
“Hey, buddy, what’s the deal here? Hitting on my girl?”
“No, I wasn’t,” I said quickly, backing off, with my hands up. “Just helping her up, that’s all.”
“Yeah, well, don’t,” he muttered, shooting me a glare as he led her away.
She looked back once, mouthing a quick “Sorry,” and then they were gone, swallowed by the crowd.
I stood there for a moment, shaking my head. “So much for miracles,” I muttered. I turned to leave, ready to head home.
Then I felt a small tug on my coat.
I turned around, half-expecting that girl again, but instead, I found myself looking down at a boy. He couldn’t have been more than eight, with wide brown eyes and a nervous look on his face. He clutched a small keychain, his hand trembling.
“Excuse me, sir,” he said, voice soft and polite.
“I… I need some help. I can’t find my family. Haven’t seen them in days.”
The words hit me like a blast of cold air.
“You… you lost your family?” I asked, lowering myself to his eye level. “When did you last see them?”
The boy looked down, shuffling his feet. “I’m not sure.
I been lookin’ for a while, though. But… but please, sir, don’t call the police.”
“Not the police?” I asked, puzzled. “But if you’ve been lost for days—”
He shook his head vigorously.
“No, no police. I heard people sayin’ that sometimes, when parents don’t have much money, the police take kids away. And… and my family doesn’t have much.
They’re poor. I’m afraid they’ll… well, they’ll take me away, too.”
I looked at him, feeling a pang of something I hadn’t felt in years. I knew what it was like to be a kid worried about getting taken away.
“Alright,” I said gently, resting a hand on his shoulder.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
Tap READ MORE to discover the rest 🔎👇
