Arnold’s 93rd birthday wish was simple but profound: to hear his children’s laughter fill his home once more. The turkey was roasted, the table set, and candles lit as he waited in the quiet of his worn cottage. Days passed with unanswered calls and unopened doors, the empty chairs around his table a painful reminder of how distant his family had grown. Memories of his late wife Mariam and their children surrounded him—photos on the mantle, pencil marks on the wall, and stories tucked away in dusty albums that felt both like comfort and heartbreak.
Despite the loneliness, Arnold held onto hope, writing heartfelt letters to each of his children, inviting them home for Christmas and his birthday. Yet, when calls went unanswered and visits never came, his hope began to wane. Neighbors, sensing his sorrow, rallied around him—decorating his home, bringing treats, and sharing laughter—showing Arnold a new kind of family he hadn’t expected but desperately needed. Still, the silence from his own children weighed heavily on his heart.
