„Mama powiedziała, że ​​Mikołaj znowu o nas zapomniał…” — powiedział chłopiec samotnemu miliarderowi na przystanku autobusowym w Boże Narodzenie…

Anna exhaled slowly, still unsure.

Mark added, “I’m not offering charity. I’m offering a path back to something you lost. Maybe to something better.”

She didn’t speak, but her eyes said everything. And in the quiet between them, something fragile—something true—began to form. Not a promise. Not yet. But the beginning of a new kind of hope.

The morning came quietly, with soft light filtering through the frosted windows. Snow had stopped falling sometime in the night, leaving the world outside blanketed in silence and white.

Inside the house, the warmth from the kitchen and the gentle clinking of dishes created a fragile sense of normalcy.

Mark, Anna, and Jaime sat at the small kitchen table sharing a simple breakfast—scrambled eggs, toast, and hot cocoa. The meal was unremarkable, yet it carried a weight none of them fully acknowledged.

Jaime swung his legs under the chair, humming softly between bites. Anna watched him, her hand occasionally brushing crumbs from his sweater.

Mark sat across from them, quieter than usual, but his eyes softer, more present.

“It’s the best cocoa I’ve ever had,” Jaime declared, holding up his nearly empty mug.

Mark smiled faintly. “It’s just the packet kind.”

“Still the best,” Jaime said, grinning.

When they finished, Anna helped clear the dishes, insisting they didn’t leave a mess.

Mark moved toward the front door, pulling on his coat. The air between them shifted, something unspoken beginning to settle. The visit—as strange and unexpected as it had been—was coming to an end.

Anna bundled Jaime into his scarf and hat. “Ready?” she asked gently.

Jaime nodded, but his eyes drifted toward the living room, toward the crooked Christmas tree they had decorated the night before.

Mark opened the door, the chill rushing in.

“Thank you,” Anna said, her voice quiet but sincere. “For everything.”

Mark nodded. “Thank you for trusting me.”

Jaime stepped forward to follow his mom, but then stopped. He turned back, reaching into his small jacket pocket and pulling out a folded piece of paper.

“Here,” he said, pressing it into Mark’s hand. “I made this for you.”

Mark looked down.

It was a handmade Christmas card drawn in crayon, edges uneven. On the front, a stick-figure version of Mark stood beside a tree, smiling. Above it, written in block letters, were the words: SANTA DIDN’T FORGET US THIS YEAR.

Inside, in Jaime’s messy handwriting, it simply said: I don’t want you to be alone next Christmas.

Mark stared at the card, unable to speak. His fingers trembled slightly around the edges.

Jaime gave a little shrug like it was no big deal, then turned to leave.

But Mark suddenly stepped forward.

“Jaime, wait.”

Jaime looked back, surprised.

And then Mark did something he hadn’t done in years. Not since the day he lost everything.

He knelt down and, without a word, pulled the little boy into a hug. It was not quick, not polite. It was long and quiet and full of something too big for words.

Mark held Jaime tightly as if anchoring himself to something he never thought he’d feel again. His eyes closed, his breath caught.

Jaime didn’t resist. He simply wrapped his arms around Mark’s neck and held on.

Anna watched from the doorway, frozen. Her lips parted slightly, her eyes filling, but she didn’t interrupt.

When Mark finally let go, he kept a hand on Jaime’s shoulder and looked up at Anna. His voice was low.

“Of course. Thank you for coming.”

Anna stepped forward, unsure. Something caught between a smile and hesitation. “We could come again,” she said, her voice unsteady. “If you’d like.”

Mark looked at her, his eyes glassy. “I would,” he whispered.

Then he nodded—not once but twice—firmly, as if giving himself permission.

Anna smiled, shy but warm. She reached out and gently squeezed his hand.

Mark held the card in his other hand, crumpled slightly from the hug, but still bright with color. He glanced over at the living room, at the crooked tree with its mismatched ornaments and broken lights.

And for the first time in years, it didn’t look wrong.

It looked like the beginning of something.

The late afternoon sun filtered through the tall windows of the old bookstore, casting golden rectangles across the worn wooden floor. Dust drifted lazily in the light, and the air held the scent of old paper, ink, and a hint of cinnamon.

Outside, snow clung to the cobblestone sidewalks of the old town district, refusing to melt, though Christmas had passed weeks ago.

Inside, the world was still.

Mark had only stepped in to escape the cold, not expecting anything more than a few quiet minutes among forgotten titles. But as he turned a corner near a poetry display, he stopped short.

In the children’s section, Jaime sat cross-legged on a colorful rug, flipping through a picture book. He was talking animatedly to the elderly shopkeeper, pointing at a page.

“And that’s what he looked like,” Jaime said. “Just like Santa, but sad. Like a Santa who lost his sleigh. But then he found us.”

Mark smiled faintly nearby.

Anna sat in a cozy armchair by a large window, her blonde hair catching the light like gold thread. She hadn’t seen him yet, focused on a book in her lap.

Mark approached slowly, not wanting to startle her.

When she looked up, surprise lit her face. Then warmth.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” he replied.

He gestured to the seat beside her. “Mind if I sit?”

She nodded. “Please.”

He sat, glancing out at the quiet street. “Nice place.”

“We come every weekend,” Anna said. “They have story time. Let kids read whatever they want. Jaime loves it.”

“I can tell.”

They watched for a few seconds as Jaime showed his book to the shopkeeper, who clapped and laughed along.

Mark turned back to Anna. “How’s school?”

Her smile deepened. “Good. I started an online class two weeks ago. Psychology again. I forgot how much I missed learning.”

He nodded. “I’m glad. Really glad.”

“Thanks to you.”

He shook his head. “You just needed a door to open. You walked through it.”

Anna leaned back. “Sometimes I still wait for it all to fall apart. I guess I’m not used to things going okay.”

Mark chuckled. “I get that.”

She glanced at him. “And you? How are you?”

He was quiet before answering. “Changing.”

“I’m thinking of closing the company.”

Anna blinked. “Really?”

He nodded. “There’s a board now. They’ll be fine. And I’ve had enough boardrooms and deadlines. I want something different.”

“What will you do?”

“I’m expanding the foundation,” he said. “Focusing more on second chances—support for people who feel forgotten. Like single parents. Like anyone starting over.”

Anna looked down, her expression soft.

After a pause, she asked, “Why now?”

Mark followed her gaze to Jaime, who was helping two smaller children turn the pages of a book.

“Because one Christmas Eve, a little boy said Santa forgot him again,” Mark said. “But he didn’t forget me. Somehow, he saw me.”

Anna didn’t respond, but her hand briefly touched his across the chair.

They sat quietly again, watching the boy who had unknowingly changed everything.

Then Mark turned. “Would you want to go somewhere this weekend?”

Anna raised an eyebrow.

“Just a small trip,” he added. “There’s a place I’d like to share. Somewhere from before.”

She looked at Jaime, then nodded. “We’d like that.”

As they gathered their things and walked toward the door, the old shopkeeper handed Jaime a cookie and a reindeer bookmark. Jaime thanked him with a bright grin.

Outside, the sun had dipped lower, casting a soft glow across the snow.

Anna adjusted Jaime’s scarf, then looked over at Mark.

Jaime, walking between them, looked up and said, “I knew you wouldn’t let Mommy be sad again.”

Neither answered, but they didn’t need to. The way they smiled—quiet and full—said everything.

The snow-covered road curved gently into the quiet countryside, far from the noise of the city. Frost kissed the edges of the windows as Mark drove, his hands steady on the wheel, his eyes occasionally glancing at the rearview mirror where Jaime sat humming to himself.

Anna sat beside him, bundled in her scarf, watching the winter landscape blur past.

When the car finally stopped at the base of a small hill, there was nothing around but trees, snow, and silence. It was the kind of stillness that held its breath.

Mark stepped out first. The crunch of his boots was the only sound.

Anna followed, then Jaime, who immediately began trudging uphill, leaving little footprints behind.