My daughter opened her gift, an empty box. My father laughed..

Not that day. We left early the next morning. I told them we had plans back in the city, but the truth was I couldn’t bear to spend another second pretending.

Sandra didn’t even get up to say goodbye. My mother handed me a foil-covered plate of leftover ham and told me to drive safe. No mention of what happened.

No one asked how Kaia was doing. And that, somehow, hurt even more. The ride home was quiet.

Kaia stared out the window, watching snow blur past the trees. I reached over and held her hand at one point. She squeezed back.

I didn’t bring up the drawing. I didn’t want to make her explain something that was clearly so personal. I didn’t want to pull apart whatever magic had lived in that moment.

But I thought about it the whole drive home. What had she drawn that made my father, the man who once called me too soft for crying at a movie, turn pale and leave the room without a word? I found out four days later. It came in a small, unmarked box left on our porch.

There was no return address, just Kaia’s name written in careful block letters across the top. She opened it slowly, like she wasn’t sure if it was safe to hope. Inside was a tiny music box, old-fashioned, wooden, hand-carved edges with little roses painted around the lid.

It played somewhere over the rainbow when she turned the crank. And there was a note. It was just one line, handwritten in a shaky, unfamiliar scrawl.

To the bravest girl I know, thank you for remembering her. No signature, but we didn’t need one. Kaia clutched the box to her chest like it was made of gold.

She didn’t say anything at first. She just held it and smiled. I sat down next to her on the floor and finally asked, Kaia, what did you draw for grandpa? She looked up at me and said, it was a picture of him holding hands with grandma and me.

Her voice was soft. I told him I hope he smiles again one day, because I remember how she made him laugh. My throat tightened.

I didn’t speak. I couldn’t. Because that was it…