She hung up in stunned silence. When she opened the front door later that day, Gabriel was standing there.
He was dressed casually today. No suit, just a charcoal sweater and jeans, but his presence still felt centered, like he carried weight without asking for attention. Haley blinked.
— You did something.
Gabriel gave a small, barely-there smile.
— Not really.
She folded her arms, searching his face.
— Why would you do that for me?
He hesitated, just for a breath. Then, quietly:
— Because no one stood up for my brother when they should have.
The words lingered between them. It was more than an answer; it was an echo of something deeper. Not pity, not obligation—a choice. Haley’s gaze softened. She stepped aside, holding the door open.
— Come in, — she said. — I made tea.
And this time, he did.
The hum of the terminal was familiar. The polished floors, the blinking gate monitors, the soft mechanical whir of escalators—it was a world Haley had grown used to, one she cleaned every night until it sparkled. But today, it felt foreign, too big, and too loud, because Finn was gone.
It had only taken seconds. Haley had turned to speak with a supervisor about changing her shift schedule. When she looked down, the spot beside her was empty. No little blue hoodie, no tiny sneakers, no Mr. Buttons, the ragged bear that usually trailed him like a shadow.
At first, she thought he might have wandered to the vending machine or maybe followed another janitor he recognized. But as the minutes ticked by, dread began to rise in her throat like fire. She started calling his name.
When Gabriel received the call from Haley, her voice was already shaking uncontrollably.
— Finn’s missing. He was just… he was just here. He saw someone handing out balloons. I think he followed them. I’ve checked everywhere near my station, but…
She did not finish. Gabriel’s heart stopped mid-beat.
— I’m coming, — he said, already grabbing his coat.
He met Haley at the terminal’s employee lounge. Her face was pale, her eyes darting toward every moving shape in the crowd. He took charge instantly.
— I’ll get security to pull camera feeds, — he told her firmly. — You stay here, in case he circles back.
She nodded mutely, her knuckles white around her phone.
Within minutes, Gabriel stood beside a monitor, watching black-and-white footage of Finn toddling after a balloon vendor—just a boy in a red cap pushing a cart of helium shapes. Finn’s small figure was easy to miss, his head tilted up, captivated. He had exited through a side hallway, one that led to the far end of the terminal’s glass viewing platform.
Gabriel was already moving before the footage looped back.
Finn sat alone on the floor in front of the wide glass wall, his knees drawn to his chest. Mr. Buttons was clutched tightly in one arm. His other hand held a crumpled balloon string. Outside the thick glass, a plane soared into the gray winter sky.
Gabriel slowed as he approached. The hallway was quiet now, the echoes of the crowd distant. It felt like a different world, suspended in time. He crouched down beside Finn, not saying anything at first. Finn blinked up at him. There were no tears, just a small, solemn face trying to be brave.
— I’m not supposed to walk away, — the boy whispered.
Gabriel nodded.
— I know.
— I just wanted to see the sky, — Finn added. — To see if Daddy could see us. From up there.
The string slipped from his hand. Gabriel caught it, and something inside him cracked. He remembered standing in a hallway like this years ago, only instead of a little boy, it was his younger brother, Lucas, being wheeled into an emergency room, unconscious.
Gabriel had been stuck in traffic that day. He missed the last moments. He missed the goodbye. He had not made it in time.
But now, with this small boy looking up at him, waiting for a grown-up to come, he had.
He gently reached out, lifting Finn into his arms.
— I see you, — Gabriel said quietly. — And I think your dad does too.
Finn tucked his head into Gabriel’s shoulder. Gabriel held him tighter than he intended, his chest tight, his breath trembling. For the first time in years, the weight he carried didn’t crush him—it anchored him. He was here. And that changed everything.
Snow had fallen lightly all day, blanketing the city in a quiet hush that made the streets below look like a model town in a holiday window display. Up on the rooftop of the Vance & Rowe corporate building, the world felt miles away—still, peaceful, and glowing in the soft orange hue of dusk.
Gabriel adjusted the last string of lights around the tree. It was not the tallest tree, nor the most symmetrical, but there was something humble and alive about it. It was a little crooked, a little windblown, and just right.
He turned when he heard the elevator doors slide open behind him. Haley stepped out first, guiding Finn by the hand. She wore a simple cream knit dress under her coat, and her golden hair, usually tied back in practical buns or braids, was loose tonight, soft waves catching the wind. Her cheeks were flushed pink from the cold, her eyes blinking at the rooftop lights Gabriel had strung by hand.
Finn’s eyes widened the second he saw the tree.
— Is this for us?
Gabriel smiled.
— It is. I figured every Christmas tree deserves to be lit at least once by people who believe in second chances.
Haley looked like she was trying to find the right words, but nothing came. Gabriel didn’t press her. He simply handed a small box of ornaments to Finn.
— Think you can help me finish decorating?
Finn nodded enthusiastically and immediately got to work, hanging shiny baubles with careful hands, humming something under his breath—probably a song from school.
Gabriel stole a glance at Haley. She had stepped toward the edge of the roof, looking out over the city as the lights twinkled far below them. There was something quiet in her stance, thoughtful, like she was giving herself permission to feel peace for the first time in a long while.
He walked over, holding out a mug of hot chocolate.
— I thought cocoa might help.
She smiled, taking it with both hands. Their fingers brushed, and neither pulled away.
— This is beautiful, — she said after a moment.
— I wanted to say thank you, — Gabriel replied. — For the way you look at the world. And for raising a boy who doesn’t wait for kindness—he makes it.
Haley laughed softly, lowering her gaze.
— I think he’s teaching me, most days.
— Me too, — Gabriel murmured.
Just then, Finn called out.
— We’re missing the top!
Gabriel turned.
— You’re right.
He reached into a box behind the tree and pulled out a silver star wrapped in tissue. He knelt beside Finn and placed it in the boy’s hands.
— Want to help me put it on?
Finn nodded, and Gabriel lifted him up, steadying him as the boy stretched his arms high and placed the star right at the tip. When it was secure, Gabriel lowered him gently. Then he pulled out a small remote from his pocket.
— Ready to light it up?
Finn grabbed his mother’s hand. Gabriel took the other. All three stood together in front of the tree. Gabriel pressed the button.
In an instant, the rooftop filled with golden light. The tree shimmered, casting a warm glow on their faces. There were no fireworks, no music—just the sound of wind, the soft hum of the city far below, and three people who, without ever saying it, knew this moment mattered.
Haley looked up at Gabriel, her eyes reflecting the lights. He looked back, his gaze steady, not searching for words. They did not need to say anything. Not “thank you,” not “stay,” not “I’m falling for you.” But the warmth between their hands, the way Haley leaned a little closer into the crook of his arm, and the gentle smile on Gabriel’s face as he looked down at her and Finn—that was more than enough.
For now, this was their Christmas. Just them, a rooftop, a crooked tree, and light that came from choosing to show up.
It was late afternoon when Gabriel returned to his office, a day after the rooftop tree lighting. The city was still blanketed in post-Christmas stillness; roads were quieter, inboxes lighter, but his mind was far from settled.
As he stepped into his office, his assistant was waiting with a small, cloth-bound notebook in hand.
— Sir, I found this while clearing the old volunteer locker files, — she said softly. — It belonged to Lucas.
Gabriel froze. He hadn’t seen anything written by his brother since the accident. Slowly, he reached out, took the notebook, and nodded in silent thanks.
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