Snow flurried down on Christmas Eve. Ten-year-old Eddie huddled in a bakery alley, his tattered coat doing little against the cold. He’d left the orphanage that morning, craving just one warm Christmas treat. The bakery’s back door creaked open. Sweet cinnamon wafted out, and Eddie’s stomach rumbled. He peeked in—an empty kitchen, a tray of fresh rolls on the counter. He slipped inside, reaching for a roll, when a voice said, “Hungry, kid?” Eddie jumped. A bearded man in a floury apron smiled, not angry. “Name’s Mr. Henderson. Christmas is for sharing.” He handed Eddie a roll and a mug of hot cocoa. By the fire that night, Eddie sat with Mr. and Mrs. Henderson, eating turkey and listening to carols. Mrs. Henderson gave him a new scarf; Mr. Henderson gave him a tiny cookie cutter. As snow danced outside, Eddie smiled. For the first time, Christmas felt like home.
stake id：pp52013
