When I inherited their house, I couldn’t bring myself to sell it. It sat empty, gathering dust.On Christmas Eve, something compelled me to drive back to the house. To my surprise,it was beautifully decorated, just as my father used to do. The door was ajar, and inside, I found a familiar figure sitting by the fire—Max, the boy next door from my childhood.Max had been homeless after being kicked out by his adoptive parents. He’d come back to the house for comfort,
decorating it with the old Christmas ornaments he found in the basement. He explained he had nowhere else to go. Touched by his story, I invited him to spend Christmas with my family. That night, I realized the house, once a symbol of pain, was becoming a place of healing. Evan and I decided to renovate it for Max, giving him a fresh start. This Christmas, I learned that even after the darkest chapters, there’s always a chance for a brighter ending.
