Inside, the familiar smell of dust and old memories hit me. And then I saw him—a man by the fireplace. “Dad?” I whispered, but it wasn’t him. It was Max, the boy who used to live next door.
“Max?” I asked, surprised. He explained that he’d been staying in the house during winters since his adoptive parents kicked him out. He remembered how my dad decorated for Christmas and found the decorations in the basement.
Tears welled up as I listened to his story. “Come home with me,” I said. “No one should be alone for Christmas.”
Later, sitting in my living room, I realized what needed to be done. Evan and I could fix up the house, and Max could live there. It might not be much, but it would give him a fresh start. I don’t know if my parents would approve, but it doesn’t matter. The house isn’t just a memory anymore; it’s a new beginning.