Christmas has always been my favorite time of year. It’s magical, full of family, warmth, and tradition. My name’s Dorothy, and I live with my husband Jerry and our eight-year-old daughter, Ruth. Every December, Ruth writes a letter to Santa, and though it’s a little quirky, it’s become part of our holiday fun. She carefully folds the letter and tucks it in the freezer. “It’s how the mail gets to the North Pole, Mom! I saw it on TV,” she told me one year, her big eyes full of excitement.

Steve prided himself on two things: his flawless floors and his unshakable pride. So when his daughter’s fiancé showed up with muddy boots on Christmas Eve, Steve KICKED HIM OUT. But by morning, the man he had thrown out delivered a twist that left Steve cleaning up his own mess. Steve, a 55-year-old father of three, had a few things he was absolutely sure about: the floor must always shine like glass, and he was always right. Whether it was parking a car, peeling potatoes, or raising his kids, Steve

A Final Gift of Love Five years had passed since Michael’s death, but sometimes it felt like yesterday. Some days, the memories were warm and comforting; other days, they stung like fresh wounds. Michael had been more than just my husband—he’d been my partner, my cheerleader, and the glue holding our small family together. Losing him had been like losing a piece of myself. Raising our son, Daniel, alone hadn’t been easy. I’d worked tirelessly—sometimes taking on two jobs—to make ends meet. But through every struggle, Daniel had been my