On Christmas morning, Amber found a beautifully wrapped gift under the tree addressed to an unknown woman. Upon confronting her husband, Carl, she learned he’d packed the gift. Who was the unknown woman? And why did Carl buy a gift for her?
This Christmas started as the worst one of my life.
Christmas Eve had been magical. We’d baked cookies, sang carols, and laughed until our sides hurt. My husband, Carl, even danced with our son, Logan, twirling him around like a tiny ballerina.
Logan went to bed with the excitement only a five-year-old could muster, dreaming of Santa’s gifts, while Carl and I stayed up sipping cocoa and admiring the twinkling lights on the tree.
By morning, snow dusted the ground like powdered sugar, and everything seemed perfect. Logan and I were already in our festive pajamas, and he was super excited to open the gifts.
“Mom! Can I open this one first?” he squealed, pointing to a brightly wrapped box with his name scrawled across the tag.
“Let’s wait for Dad,” I said, glancing toward the kitchen where Carl stood by the counter, sipping his coffee.
He looked unusually tense, his shoulders stiff as he avoided my gaze.
“Carl,” I called out, “Logan’s ready to dig in.”
Carl nodded but didn’t move. His behavior was odd, but I brushed it off because it was Christmas.
We settled onto the floor, and Logan ripped through his first gift with all the enthusiasm a five-year-old could manage. He gasped as he uncovered the toy truck he’d been begging for.
“Santa got it right, Mom!” he yelled, holding it up like a trophy.
“That’s so cool!” I chuckled.
But all of my happiness suddenly faded as my gaze landed on a big, glittery box under the tree. I hadn’t seen it the night before.
As I picked it up, I noticed a small note on top of it.
It read, For Debra, with love. You’re my only one.
I felt a knot tighten in my stomach.
“Who’s Debra?” I whispered, staring at the note as though it might somehow explain itself.
That’s when I heard Carl’s voice. His face was pale and his eyes widened as he looked at the box.
“What are you talking about?” he stammered.
I held the box up, shaking it slightly. “This. What the heck is this, Carl?”
Before he could answer, Logan piped up, beaming with pride. “I helped Santa! I found it hidden in Dad’s basement yesterday. I thought he forgot to put it under the tree, so I brought it up here at night.”
I braced myself, half-expecting him to admit to an affair.
“Debra,” he began, “is… my sister.”
I blinked, unsure if I’d heard him correctly. “Your what?”
“My sister,” he repeated, dropping onto the couch and burying his face in his hands. “She died when we were teenagers. I never told you about her because… it hurts too much.”
I just stared at him, trying to process what he’d just said.
“Carl, I don’t understand,” I said. “Debra is your sister? But you never told me about her? And why would you hide a gift for her in the basement?”
He sighed deeply, finally looking up at me. His eyes were wet with unshed tears.
“She died just before Christmas, 15 years ago,” he began in a low voice. “It was a car accident. She was on her way with Mom to buy me a Christmas gift… ice skates that I’d been dreaming about. A drunk driver hit their car, and she… she didn’t make it.”
I sank onto the couch beside him, the box still in my lap. “I’m so sorry, Carl. But why didn’t you ever tell me about her?”
“I didn’t know how,” he said. “Debra was my best friend. We didn’t have much growing up, but she always made sure I felt special. Every Christmas, she’d save up to get me something I really wanted. She always said I was her ‘only one.’ It was our thing.”
Carl’s voice softened as he smiled faintly. “That year, I’d gotten her a gift too. A little polaroid camera. She loved photography and always talked about becoming a photographer. But she never got to open it. And I never got to say goodbye.”
I looked down at the golden-wrapped box, the elegant note, and suddenly everything shifted. This wasn’t about betrayal.
It was about grief.
“For years,” Carl continued, “I’ve bought her a gift at Christmas and left it at her grave. It’s my way of keeping her memory alive. I’ve never told anyone, not even my parents. I hid it in the basement because I didn’t know how to explain it to you. I didn’t want you to think I was stuck in the past, or that I was crazy.”
I swallowed hard, my heart aching for the boy he had been, carrying such a heavy loss all these years.
“This year,” he said, his voice breaking, “Logan must’ve found it. I swear, Amber, I was going to take it to her grave like always. I never meant for you to find out this way.”
Tears blurred my vision as I placed the box on the coffee table.
“Carl… I wish you’d told me,” I said. “You don’t have to carry this alone.”
“I was going to tell you, Amber,” he explained as he wiped his tears. “But every time I thought about it, it hurt too much. Even now, after all these years, it still feels fresh.”
My mind had been racing with the worst possible scenarios just minutes ago. Now, sitting here with Carl, I realized how much pain he had been carrying silently.
“What’s in the box?” I asked softly, motioning toward the golden package on the coffee table.
“It’s uh,” Carl began. “It’s a baby-blue polaroid camera. She always wanted one. She dreamed of being a photographer. I thought… I thought it was something I could still give her, even if she isn’t here anymore.”
For a while, we sat there in silence. Then, a thought struck me.
“Let’s open it,” I said.
Carl looked at me, startled. “What?”
“The gift,” I said. “Let’s open it together. For her.”
He hesitated but eventually nodded.
We carefully unwrapped the box together, peeling back the golden paper. Inside was a simple, baby-blue polaroid camera. Carl ran his fingers over it as he thought of Debra.
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“She would’ve loved this,” he whispered, his voice trembling.
I felt tears slide down my cheeks. Somehow, holding the camera made it feel like Debra was there with us, her memory filling the room with a quiet warmth.
Then, Logan’s small voice from the bedroom broke the silence.
“Mom? Dad? Are you okay?”
I quickly wiped my eyes and smiled. “We’re okay, buddy. Come here.”
Logan trotted in, his toy truck clutched tightly in his hands. He looked at the camera and then back at us, his face curious. “What’s that?”
Carl pulled him into his lap, his voice soft but steady. “It’s a gift for someone very special. My sister, Debra. She’s not here with us, but she loved Christmas just like you do.”
Logan frowned. “She sounds nice. Can we get her a stocking next year?”
Carl’s eyes glistened with tears as he smiled. “Yeah, buddy. She can have a stocking.”
That night, we hung the polaroid camera on the Christmas tree, right in the center. It sparkled under the lights, reminding us of the love Carl had carried all these years.
That night, I went to bed feeling a strange mix of sorrow and peace.
What had started as the worst Christmas of my life had turned into something beautiful. That day, not only did we find a way to honor Debra’s memory, but we also healed a part of my husband’s heart.
I’ll never forget this Christmas.
If you enjoyed reading this story, here’s another one you might like: When my husband tossed a crumpled $50 bill on the counter and smugly told me to “make a lavish Christmas dinner” for his family, I knew I had two choices: crumble under the weight of his insult or turn the tables in a way he’d never forget. Guess which one I picked?
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
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