Anna stood at the sink rinsing mugs. Mark hovered nearby, uncertain, like kindness was a language he’d forgotten how to speak.
“I can help,” he offered awkwardly.
Anna glanced over her shoulder, surprised. “You don’t have to.”
“I want to,” Mark said. He grabbed a dish towel. “Just tell me what not to break.”
Anna laughed, a real one this time, and handed him a plate.
They stood side by side, passing dishes in a comfortable silence that felt earned.
“Jaime seems happy here,” Mark said finally.
Anna nodded. “He’s a good kid. Better than I deserve.”
Mark frowned. “Don’t say that.”
She shrugged, tired honesty in her eyes. “Sometimes I feel like I’m just keeping things from falling apart day to day. Bus to bus.”
Mark dried the plate more slowly. “You’re doing more than that,” he said. “He looks at you like you’re the whole world.”
Anna looked down at the mug in her hands, blinking fast. “Thanks.”
Mark set the towel down. “If you had the chance… would you start over?”
She paused. “Like go back?”
“No,” he said. “From where you are now. If someone offered you a way to rebuild.”
Anna leaned against the counter. “I used to have dreams,” she admitted. “I was in school. Psychology. I wanted to help kids.”
Mark listened without interrupting.
“I got pregnant,” she continued, not bitter, just factual. “My parents cut me off. I dropped out. Worked whatever I could. Slept on a friend’s couch until I could afford a one-bedroom. Now my dream is… keep Jaime safe. Warm. Maybe someday he’ll dream big because I didn’t get to.”
Mark’s eyes didn’t leave hers. “I have a foundation,” he said quietly. “Small, mostly grants and outreach. There’s a branch focused on early childhood trauma. It’s understaffed. Underfunded.”
Anna looked confused.
“I could help,” Mark said. “Not just money. Work. Real work. The kind that matters.”
Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Why would you do that for me?”
Mark didn’t flinch. “Because you haven’t given up,” he said. “Even when it would’ve been easier. That kind of strength is rare. And… I think I’m tired of being a man who only shows up with money after the damage is done.”
Anna held his gaze for a long moment, searching for pity, for control, for the catch.
“I don’t want charity,” she said softly.
“This isn’t pity,” Mark replied. “This is recognition. And maybe redemption.”
Something fragile took shape between them. Not a promise. Not yet. But a door cracking open.
Weeks passed.
Mark found himself in places he used to ignore: a small bookstore with a children’s section that smelled like paper and cinnamon. Jaime sat on a colorful rug telling an elderly shopkeeper about “sad Santa” who found them.
“And that’s what he looked like,” Jaime said, pointing at a picture. “Like Santa, but sad. But then he found us.”
Mark stood nearby, smiling faintly.
Anna sat by the window with a book in her lap. When she looked up and saw Mark, surprise lit her face, then warmth.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey,” he replied, gesturing to the seat beside her. “Mind if I sit?”
She nodded. “Please.”
They watched Jaime for a while. Mark’s eyes softened in a way that made him look younger.
“How’s school?” he asked.
Anna’s smile deepened. “Good. I started an online class two weeks ago. Psychology again.”
“I’m glad,” Mark said. “You just needed a door.”
Anna leaned back. “Sometimes I still wait for it all to fall apart.”
Mark chuckled. “I get that.”
After a pause, Anna asked, “And you? How are you?”
Mark stared out at the snow clinging to the cobblestones. “Changing,” he said. “I’m stepping away from the company. Expanding the foundation.”
Anna blinked. “Really?”
He nodded. “I’ve had enough boardrooms. I want second chances to be the headline for once.”
Anna followed his gaze to Jaime, who was helping smaller kids turn the pages of a book.
“Why now?” she asked softly.
Mark’s answer came easy, because it was true. “Because one Christmas Eve, a little boy said Santa forgot him again. But he didn’t forget me.”
Anna didn’t speak. Her hand briefly touched his, small contact, huge meaning.
One weekend, Mark drove them out of the city. The road curved into quiet countryside, trees heavy with snow. At the base of a small hill, he stopped the car.
There was nothing around but winter and silence.
“This place looks like a painting,” Anna whispered.
Mark looked toward the top of the hill where an old oak tree stood, branches bare and strong.
“This was our spot,” he said. “My wife, my daughter, and me. We had a picnic under that tree. Last time we were here together.”
They walked uphill slowly. Jaime ran ahead, leaving small footprints like punctuation marks.
At the top, Mark stopped beneath the oak.
“She brought a ribbon,” he said. “Bright yellow. She tied it up there and said it was her dream.”
Anna’s eyes softened.
“She wanted to be an artist,” Mark continued. “Said she’d come back every year and hang a new ribbon with a new dream.”
He paused, and the air filled with what he didn’t say.
Jaime flopped into the snow, laughing, flailing his arms and legs. “Mr. Mark! Look! I’m painting with snow!”
Mark smiled, then reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a faded handkerchief, embroidered with Emily’s name in uneven stitches.
Slowly, he tied it to a low branch. It fluttered gently in the breeze.
His voice was barely above a whisper. “Sweetheart… I never stopped missing you. But I’m not going to disappear anymore. I have to live.”
Anna stepped closer and slipped her hand into his. He didn’t flinch. He squeezed back, fingers tight, grounding himself.
Behind them, Jaime ran up waving a piece of paper.
“I finished it!” he shouted. “Do you want to see?”
The drawing was simple but bright: three people under a big green tree, smiling. Snowflakes fell. A ribbon waved from one branch.
“That’s you,” Jaime said, pointing. “That’s me. That’s Mom. And that’s the tree.”
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