FanStory.com - It's Never Too Lateby Begin Again

The wind howled against the thin walls of the tiny house, rattling the windows as Beth pulled an old quilt tighter around her shoulders. The kids were finally asleep, their childish chatter replaced by the soft rhythm of their breathing. She sighed, staring at the tired, wilting Christmas tree in the corner of the room.

Its ornaments were a haphazard collection — some from thrift stores, others handmade by tiny hands. But her gaze lingered on one in particular: a cracked snowflake with faded paint, a relic of her own childhood. Her father had scoffed when she begged for it years ago, calling it "junk."

She traced the crack with her thumb. The wonder had been hard to hold onto, especially after her mother left and her father's temper grew unpredictable. Now, its crack seemed to mirror her life. She ran a hand over her face, exhaustion etched into every line.

"Tomorrow's another day," she murmured. With a sigh, she turned off the lights and climbed the creaky stairs to bed, missing the faint glow of a presence outside the house.

*****
It was Christmas Eve. The ghost of Leonard "Lenny" Harper floated silently outside the window of his daughter Beth's home. Lenny had been a gruff, no-nonsense man — a veteran, a factory foreman, and, according to most who knew him, a bit of a tyrant. But under his tough exterior was a man who never quite figured out how to show love the right way. Now, as a ghost, he watched his estranged family, observing their quiet, almost lifeless Christmas.

Beth did her best to make Christmas bright for her children, Tommy and Emily. But the house felt filled with tension and disappointment. The bills were piling up, the holiday tree was sparse, and there was no laughter, no warmth — just the echo of what could have been. And Lenny knew, deep down, he had played a large part in this. He hadn't been the father she needed. He hadn't been the husband his wife deserved. He had pushed them all away, always thinking that what he did was enough, that they should have understood.

The first was Victor. He wore a long black robe, a hood over his head, and chains around his waist. His form flickered, sparking and producing a thick smoke before glowing again. His face twisted as he whispered to Lenny, "They're fine without you, Lenny. They didn't want you when you were alive. Why bother now?"

The second figure was Rose. Her glow was warm and shimmered in the night. She countered with gentle words. "You can still help them, Lenny. You may not have done it right in life, but now's your chance to make amends."

Lenny grumbled, his ghostly form hovering near the window. "I didn't come here to be lectured. I just wanted to see them, is all." He stood with his hands shoved deep in his pockets and watched the flickering lights on the tree through the glass pane, his heart heavy with regret.

"I know," Lenny mumbled, his shoulders slumping. "Can't believe she's still got that old snowflake," he muttered. "Never thought she'd hold onto it after everything."

Victor huffed, pacing in frustration. "Oh, sure. An ornament's gonna fix decades of mistakes. Why not throw in a candy cane while you're at it?" His cynicism was a stark reminder of the depth of Lenny's past mistakes.

Ignoring Rose, Victor continued to press. "You're just standing here, watching. Do you know how pathetic, you are?" Victor sneered. "We've got better things to do. Let's hit the bar down the street." He laughed, a sound that would send chills down someone's spine if they could hear it. "For once, drinks are on the house."

"Leave him be." Rose's soft glow pushed Victor back into the shadows. She stepped closer to Lenny, her voice gentle but firm. "You can still help her."

Rose waved her hand, filling his thoughts with glimpses of his past — a memory of a Christmas morning when Beth, as a young girl, received a handmade sled from him, her face lighting up with joy. "You had it in you, Lenny. You just forgot along the way."

But Rose wasn't about to give up. "Is that what's important to you, Lenny? I thought it was your family you wanted to see. You can still do something good. Sometimes, the smallest gestures can mend the biggest wounds," Rose said, holding out her hand.

Lenny hesitated, glancing back at the tree. The memory of Beth's pleading eyes as a little girl surfaced, the guilt tightening his chest. Lenny ran his hand across the dark stubble on his face and nodded. "She's right, Victor. It might be my only chance."

As Victor disappeared, Lenny stared into the darkness. "I don't know how, but if there's a chance to bring my family a little joy and show them the love I couldn't give them, well, I've got to try." His voice was filled with determination, a resolve to make things right.

Lenny got to work late that night after everyone had gone to bed. With Rose's help, he started with the sparse tree in the living room. He fixed the strings of lights with trembling hands and added a few forgotten ornaments he found in a box. Digging into his tattered pocket, he pulled an ornament out and hung it on the tree. Tears welled in his eyes as he stared at the little girl holding a puppy in her arms. Beth had begged and cried, wanting a dog more than anything, but Lenny, being practical to a fault, had refused. "Too much responsibility," he'd said, never realizing how deeply his decision hurt her. Now, as a ghost, he could give her something she'd been denied — a puppy in the form of a delicate, handcrafted ornament.

His thoughts lingered on the day he'd surprised her by taking her to the park. It was a rare outing. Together, they had spent the afternoon watching dogs race across the field. One golden retriever, his fur like spun sunshine, had bounded up to her, licking her face with slobbery enthusiasm. She had giggled so hard she nearly fell over.
He had laughed, too. A deep, rumbling sound she hadn't heard much after that day.

"You remember that day, don't you?" Rose asked. "You might not have given her the puppy, but you gave her something else — your time and your laughter. She never forgot."

Victor snorted from the shadows, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, a walk in the park and a laugh. Great legacy, Lenny." His cynicism was a stark contrast to Rose's optimism. Irritated that Lenny had chosen to listen to Rose, he'd returned — determined to undo Lenny's efforts. The lights on the tree flickered off, and the tree wobbled dangerously. Victor's voice hissed in Lenny's ear, "They don't need or deserve your help. They're better off without you anyways."

She opened the palm of her hand, exposing a glittery substance. With a big breath, she blew it all into the air. It swirled around the tree until the branches were thicker, the lights were brighter, and the shiny ornaments filled the tree. The glow in Lenny's eyes was all she needed to see to know she'd done the right thing. Next, she placed several small boxes under the tree — one for each child and one for Beth.

Rose smiled at him. "There's the love I knew was hiding inside you, Lenny." With a twist of her wrist, the shiny red truck with candy canes inside and a baby doll with blonde curly hair and a bassinet appeared.

******
Christmas morning, Beth awoke to the sound of children squealing with excitement from downstairs. She hastily slipped on her robe and slippers and hurried downstairs, stopping as she entered the room.

"Mommy, look at our tree. It's beautiful." Emily hugged her dolly and giggled. "Santa did come." The pure joy in their voices filled the room with the magic of Christmas, warming Beth's heart.

But the cracked snowflake drew her forward, her hand trembling as she reached for it. The crack was gone, and its surface gleamed flawless and whole.

Beth's throat tightened as she cradled the ornament. Her father's face flickered in her mind, followed by a warmth she hadn't felt in years. "Maybe," she whispered, tears slipping down her cheeks. "Maybe it is."

This isn't much, but it comes from my heart. I wasn't the dad you deserved, not because I didn't love you, because that would be the furthest thing from the truth. I didn't know how to show you. You made me very happy inside, and I wish I could have shown you how special you were to me.

With help from my friends, I hope I've brightened your day. I left a special ornament on the tree — something I should have done long ago. It's not the real thing, but the closest I could do.

I couldn't give you the puppy you wanted back then, but I hope this reminds you of the day in the park. You gave me something I didn't deserve — a chance to laugh and feel like a good dad, even for a little while. I wish I'd been better for you. I hope you can forgive me.

Beth's gaze shot to the tree, scanning for what the letter referred to, and then she saw it. Her eyes locked on the little girl holding the puppy. The memory of wanting a dog flooded back. Lenny had refused, and she'd carried that disappointment with her all these years. She felt a tear slip down her cheek.

With trembling hands, Beth unwrapped the present and lifted the lid. At first, she was puzzled as she saw the stack of overdue bills inside. Then, she picked one up and saw the red stamp on it — paid in full. She shuffled through all of them, unable to hold back the rush of tears. It was like she'd been given a fresh start.

Emily tugged at her mommy's arm. "Don't cry, Mommy. I'm sorry you got a box of paper in your present, but Tommy and I found a big fat turkey in the fridge."

You are the best thing that ever happened to me. And I know it's probably too late, but I hope you can understand how much I love you. You've done a terrific job as a mom.
Love, Dad

Tears blurred her vision as she clutched the note to her chest. She swore, just for a moment, she felt a warm hand rest on her shoulder. And the faint smell of aftershave lingered in the air.

Victor, Rose, and Lenny stood in the shadows, watching the merriment unfold. Victor seethed, his form flickering and twisting with rage. "Softhearted fool," he muttered and then vanished into the air.

Overcome by years of pent-up emotions, Lenny stood and watched, unable to say a word. For the first time in years, the house felt alive with the Christmas spirit, filled with laughter from his grandchildren and daughter.

Victor's voice didn't come this time, and Lenny didn't care. As the morning light grew brighter, he turned toward Beth with a faint smile. He wiped away his tears and smiled, realizing how much he'd missed. He whispered, "Merry Christmas, Kid." Then he turned to Rose. "I think I'm ready now."

Rose nodded, her glow enveloping them as Lenny finally entered the light. He left the shadows of his past behind, knowing he'd shown his daughter she was loved. He'd learned a lesson that it was never too late to say I'm sorry.