After Megan’s parents kicked her out at eighteen, she severed ties with them. Years later, she returns to her childhood home, only to discover the house is in her name and her parents have been missing for years. One Christmas Eve, she drives by the house, expecting it to be abandoned, but finds it decorated for the holidays. Are her parents back?

It’s been twenty years since I last spoke to my parents—since they kicked me out for getting pregnant. I was 18, scared, and determined to stand my ground. My father’s words still echo in my mind: “If you leave with him, don’t bother coming back!” I left anyway, and my mother never said a word.

Life wasn’t easy, but I built a family with Evan, my high school sweetheart. We had three beautiful kids, and I never regretted my decisions. Five years ago, my parents went missing during a hiking trip, and their house was left to me. I couldn’t bring myself to sell it, though. It felt wrong to let go of a place so full of memories.

On Christmas Eve, I found myself driving to the house instead of picking up butter for the turkey. I expected to see the overgrown garden and boarded-up windows, but instead, the house was beautifully decorated—just like my father used to do. I stepped out of the car, heart pounding, wondering who could have done this. The front door was ajar.

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.