Arnold’s 93rd birthday wish was heartfelt: to hear his children’s laughter fill his house one last time. The table was set, the turkey roasted, and the candles lit as he waited for them. Hours dragged on in painful silence until a knock came at the door. But it wasn’t who he’d been waiting for.

The cottage at the end of Maple Street had seen better days, much like its sole occupant. Arnold sat in his worn armchair, the leather cracked from years of use, while his tabby cat Joe purred softly in his lap. At 92, his fingers weren’t as steady as they used to be, but they still found their way through Joe’s orange fur, seeking comfort in the familiar silence.

The afternoon light filtered through dusty windows, casting long shadows across photographs that held fragments of a happier time.

An emotional older man with his eyes downcast | Source: Midjourney

“You know what today is, Joe?” Arnold’s voice quavered as he reached for a dusty photo album, his hands trembling not just from age. “Little Tommy’s birthday. He’d be… let me see… 42 now.”

He flipped through pages of memories, each one a knife to his heart. “Look at him here, missing those front teeth. Mariam made him that superhero cake he wanted so badly. I still remember how his eyes lit up!” His voice caught.

“He hugged her so tight that day, got frosting all over her lovely dress. She didn’t mind one bit. She never minded when it came to making our kids happy.”

An older man holding a photo album | Source: Midjourney

Five dusty photographs lined the mantle, his children’s smiling faces frozen in time. Bobby, with his gap-toothed grin and scraped knees from countless adventures. Little Jenny stood clutching her favorite doll, the one she’d named “Bella.”

Michael proudly holding his first trophy, his father’s eyes shining with pride behind the camera. Sarah in her graduation gown, tears of joy mixing with the spring rain. And Tommy on his wedding day, looking so much like Arnold in his own wedding photo that it made his chest ache.

“The house remembers them all, Joe,” Arnold whispered, running his weathered hand along the wall where pencil marks still tracked his children’s heights.

A nostalgic older man touching a wall | Source: Midjourney

His fingers lingered on each line, each carrying a poignant memory. “That one there? That’s from Bobby’s indoor baseball practice. Mariam was so mad,” he chuckled wetly, wiping his eyes.

“But she couldn’t stay angry when he gave her those puppy dog eyes. ‘Mama,’ he’d say, ‘I was practicing to be like Daddy.’ And she’d just melt.”

He then shuffled to the kitchen, where Mariam’s apron still hung on its hook, faded but clean.

“Remember Christmas mornings, love?” he spoke to the empty air. “Five pairs of feet thundering down those stairs, and you pretending you didn’t hear them sneaking peeks at presents for weeks.”

A sad older man standing in the kitchen | Source: Midjourney

Arnold then hobbled to the porch. Tuesday afternoons usually meant sitting on the swing, watching the neighborhood children play. Their laughter reminded Arnold of bygone days when his own yard had been full of life. Today, his neighbor Ben’s excited shouts interrupted the routine.

“Arnie! Arnie!” Ben practically skipped across his lawn, his face lit up like a Christmas tree. “You’ll never believe it! Both my kids are coming home for Christmas!”

Arnold forced his lips into what he hoped looked like a smile, though his heart crumbled a little more. “That’s wonderful, Ben.”

A cheerful older man walking on the lawn | Source: Midjourney

“Sarah’s bringing the twins. They’re walking now! And Michael, he’s flying in all the way from Seattle with his new wife!” Ben’s joy was infectious to everyone but Arnold. “Martha’s already planning the menu. Turkey, ham, her famous apple pie—”

“Sounds perfect,” Arnold managed, his throat tight. “Just like Mariam used to do. She’d spend days baking, you know. The whole house would smell like cinnamon and love.”

That evening, he sat at his kitchen table, the old rotary phone before him like a mountain to be climbed. His weekly ritual felt heavier with each passing Tuesday. He dialed Jenny’s number first.

An older man using a rotary phone | Source: Midjourney

“Hi, Dad. What is it?” Her voice sounded distant and distracted. The little girl who once wouldn’t let go of his neck now couldn’t spare him five minutes.

“Jenny, sweetheart, I was thinking about that time you dressed up as a princess for Halloween. You made me be the dragon, remember? You were so determined to save the kingdom. You said a princess didn’t need a prince if she had her daddy—”

“Listen, Dad, I’m in a really important meeting. I don’t have time to listen to these old stories. Can I call you back?”

The dial tone buzzed in his ear before he could finish talking. One down, four to go. The next three calls went to voicemail. Tommy, his youngest, at least picked up.

A woman talking on the phone | Source: Midjourney

“Dad, hey, kind of in the middle of something. The kids are crazy today, and Lisa’s got this work thing. Can I—”

“I miss you, son.” Arnold’s voice broke, years of loneliness spilling into those four words. “I miss hearing your laugh in the house. Remember how you used to hide under my desk when you were scared of thunderstorms? You’d say ‘Daddy, make the sky stop being angry.’ And I’d tell you stories until you fell asleep—”

A pause, so brief it might have been imagination. “That’s great, Dad. Listen, I gotta run! Can we talk later, yeah?”

Tommy hung up, and Arnold held the silent phone for a long moment. His reflection in the window revealed an old man he barely recognized.

A stunned older man holding a phone receiver | Source: Midjourney

“They used to fight over who got to talk to me first,” he told Joe, who’d jumped into his lap. “Now they fight over who has to talk to me at all. When did I become such a burden, Joe? When did their daddy become just another chore to check off their lists?”

Two weeks before Christmas, Arnold watched Ben’s family arrive next door.

Cars filled the driveway and children spilled out into the yard, their laughter carrying on the winter wind. Something stirred in his chest. Not quite hope, but close enough.

A black car on a driveway | Source: Unsplash

His hands shook as he pulled out his old writing desk, the one Mariam had given him on their tenth anniversary. “Help me find the right words, love,” he whispered to her photograph, touching her smile through the glass.

“Help me bring our children home. Remember how proud we were? Five beautiful souls we brought into this world. Where did we lose them along the way?”

Five sheets of cream-colored stationery, five envelopes, and five chances to bring his family home cluttered the desk. Each sheet felt like it weighed a thousand pounds of hope.

Envelopes on a table | Source: Freepik

“My dear,” Arnold began writing the same letter five times with slight variations, his handwriting shaky.

“Time moves strangely when you get to be my age. Days feel both endless and too short. This Christmas marks my 93rd birthday, and I find myself wanting nothing more than to see your face, to hear your voice not through a phone line but across my kitchen table. To hold you close and tell you all the stories I’ve saved up, all the memories that keep me company on quiet nights.

I’m not getting any younger, my darling. Each birthday candle gets a little harder to blow out, and sometimes I wonder how many chances I have left to tell you how proud I am, how much I love you, how my heart still swells when I remember the first time you called me ‘Daddy.’

Please come home. Just once more. Let me see your smile not through a photograph but across my table. Let me hold you close and pretend, just for a moment, that time hasn’t moved quite so fast. Let me be your daddy again, even if just for one day…”

An older man writing a letter | Source: Midjourney

The next morning, Arnold bundled up against the biting December wind, five sealed envelopes clutched to his chest like precious gems. Each step to the post office felt like a mile, his cane tapping a lonely rhythm on the frozen sidewalk.

“Special delivery, Arnie?” asked Paula, the postal clerk who’d known him for thirty years. She pretended not to notice the way his hands shook as he handed over the letters.

“Letters to my children, Paula. I want them home for Christmas.” His voice carried a hope that made Paula’s eyes mist over. She’d seen him mail countless letters over the years, watched his shoulders droop a little more with each passing holiday.

A woman smiling | Source: Midjourney

“I’m sure they’ll come this time,” she lied kindly, stamping each envelope with extra care. Her heart broke for the old man who refused to stop believing.

Arnold nodded, pretending not to notice the pity in her voice. “They will. They have to. It’s different this time. I can feel it in my bones.”

He walked to church afterward, each step careful on the icy sidewalk. Father Michael found him in the last pew, hands clasped in prayer.

“Praying for a Christmas miracle, Arnie?”

“Praying I’ll see another one, Mike.” Arnold’s voice trembled. “I keep telling myself there’s time, but my bones know better. This might be my last chance to have my children all home. To tell them… to show them…” He couldn’t finish, but Father Michael understood.

A sad older man sitting in the church | Source: Midjourney

Back in his little cottage, decorating became a neighborhood event. Ben arrived with boxes of lights, while Mrs. Theo directed operations from her walker, brandishing her cane like a conductor’s baton.

“The star goes higher, Ben!” she called out. “Arnie’s grandchildren need to see it sparkle from the street! They need to know their grandpa’s house still shines!”

Arnold stood in the doorway, overwhelmed by the kindness of strangers who’d become family. “You folks don’t have to do all this.”

Martha from next door appeared with fresh cookies. “Hush now, Arnie. When was the last time you climbed a ladder? Besides, this is what neighbors do. And this is what family does.”

An older man smiling | Source: Midjourney