“Mom said Santa forgot us again…”—The Boy Told the Lonely Billionaire at the Bus Stop on Christmas…
Mark stared at it for a long moment, then knelt.
“You’re a real artist,” he told Jaime.
Jaime beamed. “Like your daughter wanted to be.”
Mark’s smile turned full, free. “Yes,” he said. “Exactly like that.”
Jaime leaned in and whispered, like a secret meant to stay warm. “Now we all have dreams. And we’re not gonna forget them.”
Mark stood and looked at them, one hand holding Anna’s, the other resting on Jaime’s shoulder. The wind picked up, but none of them shivered.
“This feels like family,” Mark said, surprised by his own words.
Jaime grinned. “That’s because it is.”
Christmas Eve came again.
But this one didn’t glitter with expensive parties or lonely penthouse windows. It glowed inside a community hall where paper snowflakes hung from the ceiling and cocoa steamed in big pots. The New Start Foundation was full of families who knew what it meant to be invisible.
Mark stood at the center in a simple sweater and jeans, shoulders no longer bowed by regret. Anna moved through the room helping people, laughing gently. Jaime sat with other kids teaching them how to make snowflakes from old magazines, proud like he’d been promoted to Director of Joy.
Mark cleared his throat, drawing attention.
“I know many of us carry stories we rarely tell,” he began. “Stories of loss. Of being forgotten. I carried mine for years.”
He paused, then continued, voice steady.
“But tonight… surrounded by people brave enough to hope again, I realized something. We can’t rewrite our beginnings. But we can choose what comes next. And maybe that part can be beautiful.”
Applause rose, not loud, but deep.
Anna leaned toward him and whispered, “She would be proud of you.”
Mark didn’t say Emily’s name. He didn’t need to. The love was there, stitched into everything.
Later, near the tree, Anna pulled a small tin from beneath her chair and opened it.
Inside was a folded, yellowed letter.
“What’s that?” Jaime asked.
“It’s a letter you wrote last Christmas,” Anna said. “I kept it.”
She unfolded the paper and read, voice trembling slightly.
“Dear Santa, please don’t forget Mommy again. She’s the nicest person I know.”
Jaime blinked, then looked at Mark across the room. “I really wrote that.”
“You did,” Anna said, kissing his forehead.
Mark walked over, having heard enough. He knelt beside them and reached into his pocket.
“I have something,” he said quietly, offering Anna a small box.
Anna opened it and found a simple silver ring, unadorned, honest.
Mark spoke softly, not promising magic, only something real.
“We don’t need perfect,” he said. “We’ve lived through broken. But maybe… we could be each other’s steady. Not just tonight. Every day.”
Anna’s eyes filled. She nodded once.
That was enough.
Jaime shot up onto the small stage like an announcer with important news. He raised his hands.
“Excuse me, everybody!”
The room quieted, smiling already.
Jaime pointed at Mark and shouted, “Santa didn’t forget us this year, and I think he never will again!”
Laughter and applause filled the hall. Mark laughed too, hand over his heart, because the sound finally belonged to him again.
Later that night, in their small shared home, Jaime sat at the kitchen table with a fresh sheet of paper and a red crayon.
He wrote carefully:
“Dear Santa, if there’s a kid out there feeling forgotten, tell them someone remembers. Love, from a kid who was remembered.”
He folded the letter and placed it on the windowsill, then looked out at falling snow.
The past was still there.
But so was the future.
And this time, it was warm.
THE END
See more on the next page
Advertisement
