For years, my husband Simon never gave me gifts. I felt like a maid—cleaning, cooking, running errands—without a single thank you or sweet word. To fill the void, I bought my own gifts to decorate the Christmas tree.
At 10 a.m., Roy, our delivery man, handed me a package through the window, along with a small Santa ornament. “For you,” he said. Touched, I admired the gift, sharing childhood memories of decorating with my best friend. Roy’s expression shifted when I mentioned my old school, and he left abruptly.
Later, after Simon barked at me over the phone, I noticed an unfamiliar gift under the tree. Inside was a friendship bracelet and a note: “I’ll be waiting where we made our promise.”
Heart pounding, I hurried to our old school. In the assembly hall, a glowing tree lit up the room—and Roy stood beside it. He revealed himself as Michael, my childhood friend. “I kept the bracelet. I made a promise,” he said.
Tears filled my eyes. When he leaned in, I hesitated, but then chose myself. His kiss rekindled a warmth I thought I’d lost—a spark of love and hope.
