Eleanor stood up slowly, leaning on the table. The room went quiet. She looked at Bill, at Mary’s family, at Nick, Nancy, and Allie. “I was ready to give up,” she said softly but clearly.
“I was tired. I wanted to go be with my daughter. I thought my life was over.” Her voice got stronger. “But God gave me a new life. A new family. A brother. Friends. Thank you, Nick,” she nodded to him. “You were my angel. You came back for me.”
Nick wiped his eyes with a napkin. “Thank you, Nancy, Allie. Mary. Thank you to everyone who helped us find each other—thousands of people I’ll never meet.” She raised her glass. “Happy holidays, my family.”
They toasted, they laughed, and they cried. It was late, and the guests stayed the night, sleeping on the couch and the floor—anywhere they could fit. Eleanor and Bill sat by the window in the living room, holding hands.
Outside, the snow was falling, and the town was quiet. Somewhere in the distance, church bells were ringing for the late service. “You know, Bill,” Eleanor whispered, “I think Sarah sees us. And she’s happy.” Bill nodded.
“She’s proud of you, Birdie,” he said. “You’re strong. You went through hell and you’re still here.” “I kept my promise,” Eleanor said. “I made her an angel. And I found you. She did this. My girl.”
They watched the snow fall—quiet, white, and endless. In the warm house, two families were finally whole. And miles away, in a quiet cemetery, a stone angel with spread wings stood watch. And it almost looked like it was smiling.
Sometimes miracles happen when you don’t close your heart. When one person decides to turn around in a storm to help another. Happy Holidays.
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