My dad gave me a beautifully wrapped Christmas gift and told me not to open it until morning. But my stepmother, Melanie, got to it first—and set off a chain of events she never expected.
I used to love Christmas. The twinkling lights, the smell of pine, the gingerbread cookies—it all felt like magic. But this year was different.
A few months earlier, Dad remarried. Melanie wasn’t evil like the cartoon stepmothers, but her sweetness always came with a sting. She’d make comments like, “Is that what you’re wearing?” or “Your dad’s spoiling you, but that won’t last.”
She wasn’t physically cruel, just… corrosive. I stayed quiet for my dad’s sake. He’d been alone since Mom died ten years ago, and if Melanie made him happy, I could put up with her.
At least, that’s what I thought—until a week before Christmas.
That night, Dad gave me a box with a red satin bow. “This is something special,” he said. “But promise me: don’t open it until Christmas morning.”
I agreed. He smiled, kissed my cheek, and said he’d be away for work but would call me first thing in the morning.
On Christmas morning, I got up early, remembering his gift. But the only sound in the house was the scraping of Melanie’s spoon in her cereal bowl. I crept downstairs—and saw her kneeling by the tree, unwrapping my present.
“Melanie! What are you doing?” I gasped.
She smiled coolly. “Your dad always spoils you. Let’s see if he finally gave me something useful instead.”
“Please, don’t!” I begged. “He asked me to wait until morning!”
She ignored me, pulled the ribbon loose, and tore into the wrapping paper. Inside was a black ring box and an envelope addressed in my dad’s handwriting—with her name on it.
She opened the letter. Her hands shook as she read aloud:
“Melanie,
If you’re reading this, you did exactly what I thought you might. I overheard what you said to your sister about taking Anna’s gift. I wanted to believe I was wrong—but you proved otherwise. You’ve mistreated my daughter, and this is the final straw.
Goodbye, and Merry Christmas.”
Her face went pale. She opened the ring box—it was her engagement ring. Or so I thought. It had belonged to my grandmother, and I’d always dreamed of wearing it one day.
Just then, the front door opened.
“Greg?” she stammered.
“Dad!” I cried.
He stepped inside calmly, his travel bag still slung over his shoulder.
“I wasn’t on a trip,” he said evenly. “I stayed close to see what would happen. I’ve seen how you’ve treated Anna. I wanted to believe it would get better. But this—this confirmed everything.”
“Greg, I didn’t mean—” she began.
He cut her off. “Melanie, you failed the last test. Pack your things. You’re leaving today.”
She looked at me like it was my fault. But Dad had already turned away.
That afternoon, she left—storming out with her suitcase and bitter words. “No one will ever love you and your kid!” she spat.
Dad just said, “Goodbye.”
For the first time in months, the house felt peaceful. We spent the rest of Christmas just the two of us—watching old movies, making pancakes, laughing about how I used to sneak peeks at presents.
That night, he handed me another gold-wrapped box. Inside was the ring and a letter with my name on it.
Anna,
I love you so much. I hope this Christmas is the beginning of something better—for both of us.
– Dad
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “For everything with Melanie. I just wanted you to be happy, even after I leave for college.”
He smiled. “I am happy, sweetheart. This ring is yours now. Someday, someone good will place it on your finger—and your forever will begin. Melanie wasn’t the one.”