An unexpected gift from a secret Santa arrived while Amelia Carter – a woman in her late 60s – was sitting back on her favourite armchair, mindlessly knitting away at a burgundy sweater, she wasn't sure who it was for or if she would even be done in time for Christmas, just stuck in her little world.


She occasionally glanced at her husband, Frank Carter, who was wasting away sleeping motionless on the couch. She looked back at the sweater she was making; feeling a pang of loneliness wishing for the man she once loved back, Frank had once been the life of every room he entered. The sound of his laughter filled their home, and stories of his mischievous pranks were a legendary part of their shared history. But now, he barely spoke, his mind slipping like grains of sand through her fingers. Alzheimer's had taken more than his memories; it had stolen the man she had loved. 


The unexpected ring of the doorbell had caught her off guard. However, setting aside her knitting needles, slipped on her fuzzy slippers and slowly stood up walking to the dark oak door. Fully expecting to see a couple of teenagers attempting to play ‘ding dong ditch’, especially during the holiday season. 


However, when Amelia Carter opened the door, she saw no one, looking left to right standing outside the door feeling her goosebumps rise from the cold breeze that struck her skin. Then, looking down to her slippers spotting a medium-sized gift wrapped in green wrapping paper with a gold bow on top. Amelia slowly bent down, picking up the gift in her hands and turning it around inspecting it, originally thinking this was delivered to the wrong house. Afterwards, she found a gift tag which read ‘To: Amelia Carter – From: ?’. With a puzzled look on her face, she quickly stepped back into her home. 


After shutting the large door behind her, she took the gift, walked back to her armchair and sat back down relaxed. Amelia sat in her armchair, the gift balanced delicately in her lap. The green wrapping paper seemed almost too pristine, too vibrant, like it had been chosen specifically to catch her eye. The gold bow was delicate, almost reminiscent of the kind of gift she might have given Frank when they were young and in love, long before the illness stole his essence from her.


With a trembling hand, she peeled away the paper. It crinkled softly as it fell to the floor, revealing a small, carved wooden box. The box was dark, polished to a gleam, and etched with heart patterns that made Amelia’s heart stop for a moment. The design was unmistakably familiar, though she couldn’t recall why.


A wave of warmth spread over her as she lifted the lid and saw what lay inside. It was a tiny music box, intricately designed with delicate gears and a small ballerina figurine wearing a pink tutu. She wound it up, the key a tiny golden piece that gleamed like the stars above. The familiar, enchanting melody began to play, filling the room with its soft, wistful tune. It was the song Frank had once hummed so often when they were young before the laughter had faded and the light in his eyes had dimmed.


The music was like a thread pulling her back to a moment long past, to the days when she had danced in their living room with him, his arms wrapped around her, and their laughter rising to the ceiling. He had always loved music – had played the piano at their local church, and had a voice that could fill a hall with its warmth. Now, he sat silently on the couch, eyes vacant and distant.


Amelia closed her eyes, the sound enveloping her. For a moment, the room seemed brighter, and she could almost imagine Frank beside her, the memory so real that she reached out as if to touch him. The smile she had worn for decades was gone, replaced by a soft, bittersweet tear that slid down her cheek. She let it fall, feeling the weight of nostalgia-heavy in her chest.


Suddenly, the music changed. It skipped, the beautiful notes broken and jagged. Amelia’s eyes snapped open, and she felt a chill creep down her spine. The room grew colder, as if a gust of wind had passed through, though the windows were all shut tight. The ballerina inside the music box spun faster, faster, and then stopped abruptly.


Before Amelia could make sense of the strange shift, she heard a faint sound—a sound she knew well but hadn’t heard in years. Frank’s voice.


"Amelia…" It was weak, raspy, but unmistakably his. The voice that had called her name across their porch on warm summer evenings, or in the early morning light as he 


whispered, "I love you."


Amelia spun around, her heart pounding. The sound came from the couch where Frank lay, but his eyes were wide, his gaze fixed on the music box in her lap. His hands twitched, his lips moving as if trying to speak, but no sound escaped. The air between them was thick with anticipation and an almost unbearable hope.


A shuddering breath escaped him, and then he whispered again, but louder this time, as though it were an echo of the man he had once been.


"Amelia, it’s me."


A sharp pain shot through her, and her vision blurred with tears. This wasn’t possible; the disease had taken so much from him, had stolen his memories, his laughter, his life. But here he was, voice trembling, reaching for something long lost.


Amelia dropped the music box, her hands quickly covering her mouth, tears streaming down her face as she whispered, “Frank.”

At that moment, the sound of the song that had been playing earlier shifted again, this time to a dark, haunting note. And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the room fell silent. Frank’s eyes closed, and he lay still.


Amelia’s hands trembled as she reached for the box, which now lay closed, the tune inside forever muted. She opened it to find that the ballerina had stopped mid-spin, eyes wide as if frozen in a moment of terror.


It was then she noticed the small inscription etched on the inside lid, one she had never seen before.


"To the one who once loved me, may the music find you when I’m gone."


A sob escaped her as the reality set in. Frank was no longer in this world, his voice a parting gift, a final farewell that had come through a forgotten melody. Amelia sat there, the silence now louder than any sound, as the gift – the music box – lay at her side on top of the burgundy sweater she was knitting, forever a reminder that some love linger beyond the boundaries of time, even when their bodies fail them.