The Last Ornament
The old man found it wedged behind the water heater—a glass ornament shaped like a star, dusty and forgotten. He turned it in his wrinkled hands, watching fractured light dance across the basement walls.
Forty years ago, his daughter had made it in art class. She’d been seven, gap-toothed, insisting it go at the very top of the tree. He’d lifted her on his shoulders, and she’d placed it there with such ceremony, like she was crowning something sacred.
He climbed the basement stairs slowly. The house was quiet—too quiet, the way it had been since Martha passed. His daughter lived three states away now, busy with her own family, her own traditions.
The small tree in his living room looked sparse. He’d almost skipped it this year. What was the point?
But he hung the star anyway, right at the top, using a stepstool and considerable stubbornness.
His phone buzzed. A video call from his daughter.
“Dad! Are you decorating? Hold on—kids, come see Grandpa’s tree!”
Suddenly the screen filled with his grandchildren, pointing and laughing, and there in the background, he saw it: his daughter’s tree, and at the very top, a handmade star. Not the same one, but close enough.
“I made one with Emma,” his daughter said softly. “Reminded me of… well. You know.”
He looked at his tree, at the old star catching the light just right.
The house didn’t seem quite so quiet anymore.
stake - MisterS69
