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Novelo Rectangle

An unexpected gift from a secret Santa arrived at Arthur Hale’s door on a chilly December afternoon. He was halfway through his cup of tea, wrapped in his favorite navy cardigan, the one his late wife used to tease him about. The knock startled him—he wasn’t expecting anyone. The package, simple yet neat, sat on his stoop. Its brown wrapping paper bore no return address, only his name: Arthur Hale. Curiosity piqued, Arthur brought it inside. He set the package on his coffee table, staring at it like it might sprout legs and walk away. Arthur wasn’t one for surprises. His life had been routine for years—a retired English teacher who now spent his days reading novels and volunteering at the local library. His wife, Jehnie, had passed seven years ago from ovarian cancer, and they hadn’t been blessed with children. His fingers brushed against the string securing the package. Carefully, he untied it and peeled back the paper, revealing a small wooden box with intricate carvings of leaves and vines; the deep etchings were accompanied by a dark green paint to make them pop—and it did the trick, as he gazed at the artwork for a moment too long. Jostling himself out of his thoughts, Arthur unfastened the brass clasp and opened the wooden box. Nestled inside was a letter, along with a tiny snow globe featuring a red-brick schoolhouse, its roof dusted with glittering snow. The sight brought a wave of nostalgia, partnered with the smallest smile; lips upturning, a quiet "Well, would you look at that" tumbling out. He admired the schoolhouse and the tiniest snowman situated right out in the front. His Pomchi named Minskie—a mix of Chihuahua and Pomeranian—was the most adorable thing he had ever laid his eyes on...but the little snow globe that was resting in his palm was a close second. Arthur gave the wintery, nostalgic globe a gentle shake. The ‘snow’ whipped up into a storm; spinning about before delicately drifting to the ground, dusting the tiny building housed within. He recognized the schoolhouse immediately—it was the very one where he’d taught for over two decades. How the likeness of the schoolhouse was captured was staggering. Every detail had been painstakingly recreated: the red bricks that had weathered countless seasons, the steepled roof crowned with a miniature bell tower, and even the tiny cracks in the steps where he used to sit and grade papers during sunny afternoons. The snow within the globe swirled lazily, catching the dying firelight that still burned in his hearth like mini diamonds, giving life to the scene in a way that felt almost magical. The tiny figures of children, bundled in winter clothes, could be seen playing in the yard, their laughter almost audible in his imagination. Minskie's yapping from the kitchen snapped Arthur out of his reverie. He'd forgotten to fill her food bowl—and he could tell the little ball of fluff was displeased. Setting both the box and the snow globe aside, but plucking the letter from its confines, Arthur rose from his rocking chair; it'd been Jehnie's favorite spot to relax and read. Now, it was Arthur's. With the still-sealed letter tucked under his arm, he hustled his way to the kitchen where Minskie was seated next to her bowl—her empty bowl, the small dog's brown eyes situated on Arthur. He could almost feel her staring into his soul; and she probably was, as her feeding time had slipped his mind. "Sorry, sorry, just hold on a minute." His voice echoed through the room, as did his footsteps, as he reached the refrigerator that housed Minskie's food. It was from The Farmer's Dog; a brand he trusted, and a brand that he'd always give Minskie. Unless she somehow grew tired of it, of course. Arthur scooped out the soft, fresh-smelling food into Minskie's bowl after fetching it from the floor, glancing at the letter under his arm as he worked. The envelope felt heavier than it should have, as though it carried more than just words—it carried weight. He set the sealed envelope on the counter and slid Minskie's bowl across the floor where she sat, the little fluffball pouncing on it with gusto, her puffy tail wagging about in what Arthur could only assume as forgiveness. "Happy now?" he muttered, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Minskie didn't even look up, fully engrossed in her feast. Typical. With her satisfied, Arthur picked up the letter again, turning it over in his hands. It was plain white, the kind you’d pick up in a rush at the grocery store, but there was something personal about the way his name had been written on the front: Arthur Hale, in a careful, deliberate hand. It was not printed. It was not formal. This was written by someone who took their time—yet it was also written with so much care. He could just tell; there were no smudges, no mistakes. Arthur's fingers hovered over the edge of the envelope, hesitating. He couldn’t explain it, but part of him didn’t want to open it. The snow globe, the letter—it felt like an intrusion, though a gentle one, into the quiet life he'd built after Jehnie passed. Curiosity had always been his weakness, though. Setting the letter down for a brief moment, Arthur grabbed a knife from the block on the counter and slit the envelope open. Inside was a single piece of stationery, folded neatly. He unfolded it slowly, his eyes catching the faint scent of lavender from the paper. The handwriting was the same as the name on the envelope—neat but hesitant. Just reading his name, as it was addressed to him and only him, made his heart skip. 'Dear Mr. Hale, You don’t know me, but I believe I know you. I’ve thought about writing this letter for a long time. Please forgive the abruptness of it. I’m not sure how else to do this. My name is Claire Bennett, and I believe you are my father. My mother, Evelyn Bennett, told me about you before she passed away last spring. She said the two of you knew each other quite well when she was a student teacher at Fairview High School. I don’t know the details of what happened between you, but she always spoke of you so kindly. She never had anything negative to say. I’ve been debating whether to reach out for a few months, now. I didn’t want to disrupt your life or bring up painful memories, as I know it was my mother who ended up breaking things off after you got your promotion. At least, that's what she told me a while back. But as the holidays started getting closer, I found myself just jumping the gun and taking a chance. I knew that I would never find out if I didn't try. But I hope this gift—a small token of appreciation for the man who may have shaped my life in ways I’ll never fully understand—reaches you in the spirit it’s intended. If this letter feels like too much, you don’t have to respond. But if you’d like to talk, I’d love to meet you. Enclosed is my phone number. Wishing you peace and joy this holiday season. Sincerely,Claire Bennett' The words all blurred together. His hands trembled. Minskie, who had finished her bowl of food, waddled over and brushed against Arthur's legs. Learning of Evelyn's passing was one thing. It was the first he'd heard of it—no one bothered to tell him. But could it really be true? Could Claire truly be his daughter? His child, who he had no knowledge of prior to receiving the gift? Arthur lowered the letter. Reaching up, he wiped at his eyes with his thumb, smearing hot tears against his skin. Just when did they choose to well up? Setting the lavender-scented letter and the envelope onto the counter, he dropped down, plucking Minskie off the floor. His warm cheeks were immediately assaulted with slobbery kisses—and he couldn't help the faint chuckle that poured out of him. Minskie always knew how to brighten Arthur's day. She was the light of his life, now that Jehnie was gone. "What do you have to say about all this?" His question hung in the air. Knowing he would receive no answer from anyone but himself, he held Minskie close to his chest, cradling her like the little pampered princess that she was. His eyes fell to the opened letter once more. Arthur drew in a breath, huffing out the quietest sigh as his attention slid back to Minskie. "I think I know what I've got to do." — ❄️ — ❄️ — They arranged to meet at a café in the nearby town of Brookhaven on Christmas Eve—and when that day came, Arthur arrived early. He sat at a table nearest the door, nursing a cup of coffee as he watched. As he waited. His heart jumped every time it swung open. His knuckles were white with how he strangled the poor take-out cup in his grasp. His nerves were tangled; tied in a knot with anxiety that refused to settle. He hadn't checked his blood pressure earlier that morning, though he figured that, if he did in that moment, it would be sky high. His phone was nestled next to his right hand. Arthur's fingers tapped away at the smooth, polished wood of the table. Every time a new patron walked in, the tiny bell suspended above jangled. The chime taunted him with every delicate ring. That is, until the person he'd been waiting for finally strolled in. He knew, instantly, that it was her. She had Evelyn’s auburn hair and bright green eyes. She was even clothed in her mother's knitted sweater—the one Evelyn wore when Arthur had first asked her out on a date nearly twenty years ago. He studied the woman's mannerisms as she scanned the room, spotted him, and offered a tentative smile. Arthur stood, his hands smoothing his sweater. “Claire Bennett?” “Hi,” she said, her voice was soft but steady, albeit tinged with nervousness. “It’s nice to meet you.” "You as well." Arthur stuck out a hand, and Claire claimed it after a moment's notice. Once their handshake concluded, they both took their seats. Arthur's eyes fell on Claire as she nestled her cross-body bag onto her lap. "I'll admit, I didn't..." He made a motion. "I didn't expect this." "I understand." Claire leaned back in her seat. She tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear, fingers brushing the silver hoop earring that glistened in the early morning light. "I'm sorry. It was really sudden." "No, no." Arthur shook his head. He cracked a smile. "It's all right. Really. I just," he paused, shrugging one shoulder, "had no idea Evelyn had a daughter. Had you. She never told me." "She'd said she found out she was pregnant a couple days after she ended things. And that she knew I was yours...but she really didn't say anything?" "No. Nothing at all." "Do you resent her for it?" Her question gave Arthur pause. "No, of course not. I mean...I'm shocked. I really am. But I could never resent your mother nor hate her. Ever." Plucking his cup of now lukewarm coffee from the table, he took a tentative sip before continuing. "We all have our reasons for not sharing certain things." Arthur glanced back up at Claire, noting how her features were twisted with uncertainty. "Evelyn had hers. I don't know what those are, and I never will." His eyes searched Claire's. "Unless she mentioned something before she passed?" "She didn't, no. I'm sorry." "No, it's okay. Don't be sorry." "Are you sure? I mean..." "I'm positive, Claire. It's okay. It's not your fault." Despite his initial hesitancy, Arthur reached across the table, offering his hand—and Claire was quick, much to Arthur's surprise, to clasp his fingers; hold his hand gently. "I'll stop apologizing, now. But, I do have a question," Claire said, meeting Arthur's eyes once more. She managed the faintest smile. Arthur gave a nod of his head. He had a feeling he knew what she was going to ask of him—and his suspicions were confirmed as the words came flooding out: "Would you be willing to take a DNA test?" — ❄️ — ❄️ — They were settled in the living room the day after New Year's. Arthur rested in his rocking chair while Claire was situated on the floor with Minskie on her lap; curled up, snoozing away. Arthur turned the folder over in his hands once more—the folder that had the results of the DNA test. Every single time he tried to open it, his breath would catch. He was nervous, despite harboring an inkling. He had a strong feeling that he couldn't shake. "Do you want me to open it?" asked Claire as she ran her fingers through Minskie's soft fur. Arthur cleared his throat. He tugged at the collar of his beige turtleneck sweater. "No, it's okay." "Are you sure?" "Yeah." A long stretch of silence ensued; that is, until it was broken by Claire's query shattering the awkwardness: "Would you rather have me open it, Arthur?" They had agreed to wait until today, after the holiday rush had passed, to face whatever lay inside. But now that the moment was here, he wasn’t sure he could go through with it. Arthur pushed out a sudden breath. Rising from his seat, he took a step forward and bent, handing the folder off to Claire. She took it with only a fraction of hesitancy. "Yes, please." "Let's see here," she uttered quietly, despite her own jumbled nerves. Claire sat back on the floor, adjusting her position as Minskie gave a sleepy twitch in her lap, her soft snores punctuating the quiet room. Claire gently unfolded the folder, the crisp paper inside almost too crisp. Her hands trembled slightly as she pulled out the DNA results. She glanced at the letterhead, confirming the lab’s official seal, before looking back at Arthur. Her throat tightened as she stared at the words. Arthur could feel his heart hammering against his ribcage as he waited for her to speak, the anticipation stretching between them like a thin, fragile thread. It was as if the moment itself had drawn a breath and held it. “What does it say?” Arthur asked, his voice rough, low, like he wasn’t sure if he was ready to hear it. But there was no going back. Not now. “Arthur,” she said, her voice firm but quiet. “It’s a match. A 99.99% probability.” She let the words hang in the air for a moment, the finality of them settling between them. Her fingers lingered on the paper as if needing the confirmation as much as he did. She took a deep breath before continuing, “It’s you." Her faint smile widened, growing brighter. "You’re my father. You're my dad.” Though he'd been standing rather still before, minus the tremble in his hands, he froze. Claire was his daughter. His daughter. And he was her father. Arthur had a daughter. A child. He was a father. It felt as if he'd been punched in the chest; winded, his breath stolen from him. He took a step. Then another. And then one more—and just as Minskie awoke and moved off of Claire's lap at the most subtle movement, she, too, stood. Claire embraced Arthur, her arms filing around him, and Arthur wasted no time in hugging her back. "I can't believe it." Claire drew back after a moment, but didn't let him go. She clung to him; fingers bunching the fabric of Arthur's sweater. "I finally know who my dad is, after all this time." Her joy was infectious. Her smile was as bright and as warm as Evelyn's once was—and he swore he saw a flicker of Jehnie in Claire, too. Her words, the sight of her happiness, made his features soften. His own smile was gentle, holding just as much warmth as Claire's. "Finding out that I have a daughter..." A wayward strand of her hair was brushed aside, Arthur's hand falling to cradle Claire's cheek. "It's the best Christmas gift I've ever gotten." And as Arthur's daughter leaned her head into his touch, the snow globe, which rested on top of the wooden box positioned on the mantle of the fireplace, glistened in the warm firelight.

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Unraveling December

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Unraveling December

Bluebirdxx

Bluebird

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Unraveling December

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