Inside, the warmth hit him like sunlight. The living room was cluttered but alive—garlands made of old ribbons, paper stars hanging unevenly, the smell of roast chicken filling the air. Lucia’s laughter echoed as relatives chatted over one another.
Someone pushed a chair toward him. “Sit, lad! There’s plenty.”
Matthias sat. Conversation bubbled, people teased one another, stories tangled over clinking glasses. The food was simple but rich with flavor. He felt his shoulders ease for the first time in years.
After dinner, Ana’s brother pulled out a guitar, and music filled the tiny space. Lucia climbed into Matthias’s lap, setting a paper crown on his head. Everyone burst into laughter. He joined them without hesitation, his deep chuckle blending into the sound of life he’d long forgotten.
When the laughter quieted, Ana handed him a small box wrapped in brown paper. “For you.”
He frowned. “You didn’t have to.”
She smiled. “You showed up. That’s enough.”
Inside was a hand-carved ornament shaped like a tiny house. On it, etched with a child’s uneven letters, was a single word: Welcome.
Matthias swallowed hard. “I don’t remember the last time someone gave me a gift that meant something.”