Megan abandons her family after her parents kicked her out at the age of eighteen. But one day, she drives back to her childhood home, only to find that the house is in her name and her parents have gone missing. Years later, she passes along again, but this time she notices the old house decked for the holidays. Are her parents back? It’s been 20 years since I last communicated with my folks. It’s been 20 years since they kicked me out for getting pregnant.

I was 18, young, afraid, yet determined enough to stay firm. I recall my father’s voice, the fury practically chilling me to my bones.”If you leave with him, Megan, don’t bother coming back!” he called out. “I do not want to see you again! You’re a disaster, and instead of trying to be better, you’re choosing self-destruction.” I left anyway. That same night, my mother stood silently at the entrance, arms wrapped around herself, watching me leave. She said nothing; she simply let me walk out into the cold.

“Is that it? Are you not going to say anything? “Mom, seriously?” “I said.” She opened her mouth for a second. Instead of saying anything, she simply stepped inside and locked the door. They never forgave me. But here I am, 20 years later. I am thirty-eight years old, with three lovely children and a guy who has been by my side through it all. Evan and I were high school sweethearts, and when I became pregnant, I worried that he would abandon me.

“Why would I leave you?” he said, brandishing the pregnancy test. “We’re in this together, Megan.” “But what about your football scholarship for college? “You would give that up?” I asked. “Of course, I would,” he replied. “Let’s do it, Meg. “You, I, and the baby!” Just like that, I decided to tell my parents, and my father kicked me out.Despite everything, we created a life. A really good life. And let me tell you, I have absolutely no regrets. Evan works hard, and our children, Ella, Maya, and Ben, are all I ever hoped for.

If you had told my 18-year-old self that I’d still be with him after two decades, I would have laughed through my tears. But, here we are.My last visit to my parents’ place was five years ago. They went missing while climbing in the mountains. It was going to be a quick trip, presumably. Only a weekend. But they never returned. “I’m sorry, Megan,” our neighbor, Mr. Smith, remarked when I approached to inquire about my parents. “You really haven’t heard about it?” “The incident?”

“What happened? “What are you talking about?” I inquired, an unpleasant feeling washing over me. “They went hiking, Megan.” You know, the typical lengthy weekend vacations they take? They left the keys here so I could feed the dog. But at the end of the weekend, they did not return.” “What do you mean?” I inquired. “When they did not return, I notified the police, who dispatched a search party. “The officers claimed that all they discovered were their abandoned backpacks on a cliff,” he groaned.

“No… bodies?” I inquired, my voice threatening to break. As difficult as our relationship was, I always expected my parents to be present, at home. They should always be within those four walls for when I needed them. I could always count on them to be there when I decided to bring my children to meet them.And now? They were gone. “No, sweetheart,” Mr. Smith answered. “No bodies, no footprints—nothing. They had just gone. “They disappeared without a trace.”

The next step was to get the house signed off to me. I didn’t want to do anything with it; I just wanted to leave it there. I went to the police station, and the investigator cleared the file as a cold case. “Move on, Megan,” he urged. “We’ve had no leads in years.” The problem was proving that I was their daughter; fortunately, there was a provision in my father’s will that said that everything would be mine if he and my mother died.

For five years, the house stood empty. I never had the confidence to sell it, though. Something about letting go didn’t feel right.So it just stood there, gathering dust and neglect, locked in time like a ghost from the past that I wasn’t ready to face. Until tonight. It was Christmas Eve. And for reasons I couldn’t understand, I ended myself traveling to the old place rather than purchasing the additional butter Evan and I needed for the turkey the next day.

The house has been abandoned for the past five years. As I drove, I wondered how it might appear after so many years. I envisioned the smashed front windows and graffiti streaks on the walls as battle scars. I saw weeds devouring my mother’s beloved flower gardens, as well as the wooden porch, which was most likely shattered and drooping from years of neglect.

When I pulled into the driveway, my chest clenched as I saw the house. It was embellished.Not simply haphazardly adorned, but exquisitely ornamented. The old garlands of glittering lights my father used to string along the eaves glowed softly against the twilight sky. A fading wreath with little bells hung crookedly from the entrance door. The path leading to the house was lined with the traditional plastic candy canes.

I even recognized the identical wooden reindeer that we used to put up every December. They were all old and chipped, but still stood proudly on the grass. My heart raced as I got out of the automobile. How can this be?Who would have done something like that? Nobody lived there. Nobody had for years. As I wandered around, I noticed a little generator on the porch. It was connected to the lights, feeding them alongside the rest of the lonesome house.

The decorations were just the way my father used to do them. The same lights, same configuration. A lump developed in my throat. It felt like returning to my childhood, as if time had rewinded itself.Even if it was only for one night. I needed to know who was behind this. I needed to know if it was real or just in my brain. The front door was slightly ajar. I paused for a second, my heart racing and irregular, before carefully sliding it open.

The inside of the house smelt of dust and memories, but the main room…The living room stole my breath away. A Christmas tree stood by the fireplace, precisely like the ones I remembered from my childhood. It was adorned with mismatched ornaments and too many strands of tinsel. The stockings hung on the fireplace, and there were a few wrapped presents beneath the tree, tied with fading ribbons.

Then I saw him. A figure sat in front of the fireplace, slightly bent and silhouetted by the dying fire’s glow. I couldn’t control myself. The word escaped my lips before I could consider. “Dad?” I called. The figure moved and turned slowly towards me, the firelight flickering across his face. It was not my father. It was a young man in his mid-thirties, I believe. His brown hair was unkempt, and his face was clouded with tiredness. He wore a shabby coat and his cheeks were flushed from the cold.

But the moment I saw him, I knew who he was. “Max?” I whispered.His eyes widened, and a small, uncomfortable smile formed at the corner of his mouth. “Do you remember me?” Megan?” Of course, I remember him. He used to be the small boy who lived next door, with unkempt hair and a toothy smile. However, he couldn’t have been older than me. “What are you doing here?” I asked.Max looked around the room. “I have been residing here. “Just for the winter, Megan,” he confessed. “It’s the second year now.”

I stared at him. “Why?” “I don’t really have anywhere else to go,” he admitted, cradling his head. It took me a minute to understand what he was saying. “Max, are you homeless?” I asked. He offered a slight nod. “Yeah,” he replied. “What about my adopted parents, the Smiths? They actually kicked me out. When you arrived around ten years ago, my father told you about your parents. I’ve had some bad luck, and I suppose they just didn’t want to care about me anymore. It’s difficult, you know? Find job. I was between pals for a while, but even they became tired.”My chest clenched at his words.

He looked around the room, a smile on his lips. “I recall how your father used to adorn the house. You had the greatest home in the neighborhood. When I was walking around for nostalgic purposes, I noticed that the house remained unoccupied. I made myself at home… “I found the decorations in the basement.”
We both remained quiet for a bit.

He questioned me, “Why didn’t you get rid of the place?” “I don’t have any good answers,” I replied. “I just wanted to keep it the way it was.” Max nodded.
“I apologize if I shouldn’t be here,” Max stated. “I had nowhere to go. I had no parents to turn to for the holidays, and I honestly didn’t believe anyone would mind.” t that moment, something inside me broke. I’d gone through everything Max had just recounted. “Come home with me,” I asked. “No one should spend Christmas alone. And, anyway, I’ll need to distract my three children from the mound of Christmas presents at home.”

Max’s eyes widened, and for a brief moment, he resembled the same small boy from years before, longing for someone to care. Now, as I sit in my living room, watching my children get to know someone from my past, I realize what I must do.

Evan and I have some savings. It could be enough to decorate the house correctly. Max can move in after the problem has been resolved. He can rent out a few of rooms to boarders if he needs the extra money. It isn’t much, but it’s a start, and I’m confident it will allow him to get back on his feet. I set my cup of hot chocolate down on the coffee table. I was becoming aroused. I’m not sure whether my parents would approve of the plan, but it doesn’t matter. They no longer remember that house. It is time to give it a new purpose.

And who knows. Perhaps the money we produce will go toward Ella, Maya, or Ben’s education fund eventually. What would you have done?