He called his children, but excuses and silence answered. “They used to fight to talk to me first,” he lamented to Joe. Hurt but hopeful, Arnold wrote heartfelt letters, inviting them home for Christmas. Neighbors, seeing his loneliness, rallied to decorate his house, filling it with warmth.
On Christmas, the table remained empty—until Brady, a young neighbor, knocked. Understanding Arnold’s grief, Brady stayed, bringing others to celebrate. Their joy rekindled Arnold’s heart. In the weeks that followed, Arnold found a son in Brady, proving family is not always the one we’re born with but the one we find.
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