“Dad said—”
“Your father spoils you rotten,” Melanie sneered, lifting the lid.
Inside:
- A black velvet ring box (Grandma’s heirloom engagement ring)
- A letter addressed to Melanie
The color drained from the stepmother’s face as she read aloud:
“If you’re reading this, you’ve stolen from my child. Just as I overheard you planning with your sister. Merry Christmas—we’re done.”
The front door swung open. Dad stood framed in winter light, duffel bag in hand.
“I wasn’t on a work trip,” he said calmly. “I was at the Marriott. Waiting to see if you’d fail this test.”
Melanie’s manicured hands trembled around the ring box. “Greg, I—”
“Pack your bags.” His voice could’ve frozen the North Pole. “You have until noon.”
That evening, curled by the fire with hot chocolate, Dad handed Anna one last gift—the same ring box. Inside, a new note:
“To my daughter, who never asks for anything but love. May your forever be brighter than mine was.”
As the grandfather clock chimed midnight, Anna realized: the best gifts aren’t under the tree. They’re the parents who see through the masks people wear.