On Christmas Eve, I Found My Parents’ Long-Abandoned House Looking Alive Again—Here’s How!
After Megan’s parents kicked her out at eighteen, she left her family behind. But years later, she drove back to her childhood home and found out the house was now hers, and her parents were missing. Even more years later, she drove by again and saw the house decorated for the holidays. Could her parents have returned?
It’s been twenty years since I last spoke to my parents. Twenty years since they kicked me out for getting pregnant.
I was 18, scared, but stubborn. My dad’s angry voice still echoes in my mind.
“If you leave with him, Megan, don’t bother coming back!” he yelled. “You’re a mess, choosing to ruin your life!”
I left anyway.
That night, my mom stood at the door, arms crossed, watching me leave. She didn’t say a word, just closed the door.
They never forgave me.
Now, I’m 38, with three wonderful kids and Evan, my husband. He stood by me through everything.
When I got pregnant, I thought he’d leave me.
“Why would I leave you?” he said, holding the test. “We’re in this together.”
“But what about your scholarship?” I asked.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “You, me, and the baby—we’ll figure it out.”
So, I told my parents, which led to my dad throwing me out.
Despite it all, Evan and I built a life. Our kids—Ella, Maya, and Ben—are my dream come true. If you’d told my 18-year-old self this would be my life, I wouldn’t have believed it.
We’re happy.
The last time I went to my parents’ house was five years ago. They went missing on a hiking trip.
It was supposed to be a short weekend getaway. But they never came back.
I went to our old neighbor, Mr. Smith, to ask about them.
“You really don’t know, Megan?” he asked. “They went hiking but never returned. Their backpacks were found near a cliff, but no bodies.”
Even though our relationship was strained, I always thought they’d be there if I needed them. Now, they were just… gone.
Afterward, I inherited the house. I didn’t want to sell it—it felt wrong. So, it sat empty for five years.
Tonight, it’s Christmas Eve. Instead of buying the butter I needed, I found myself driving to the old house.
I imagined it abandoned—cracked windows, graffiti, overgrown weeds, and a sagging porch.
But when I arrived, I was shocked.
The house was decorated.
The lights my dad used to string up were glowing. A wreath hung on the door, and plastic candy canes lined the path. Even the old wooden reindeer stood in the yard.
My heart raced. Who could have done this?
The decorations looked just as my dad used to do them. It was like stepping into the past.
The front door was slightly open. I hesitated but pushed it gently.
Inside, the living room stunned me.
There was a tree decorated with mismatched ornaments, stockings on the mantel, and wrapped presents beneath the tree.
Then I saw him.
A figure sat by the fireplace.
“Dad?” I whispered.
He turned. It wasn’t my dad.
It was a man in his mid-thirties, with dark, messy hair and a tired face.
“Max?” I asked.
His eyes widened. “You remember me?”
Of course, I remembered him. He was the boy next door when we were kids.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“I’ve been staying here for the winters,” he admitted.
“Why?”
“I don’t have anywhere else to go,” he said.
“Max, are you homeless?” I asked.
He nodded. “After my adoptive parents kicked me out, I couldn’t catch a break. I’ve been staying here for warmth. I found the decorations in the basement.”
We sat quietly for a while.
“Why didn’t you sell the house?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. “It just didn’t feel right.”
“I’m sorry if I overstepped,” he said. “I didn’t think anyone would mind.”
My heart broke. I had been through what he was describing.
“Come home with me,” I said. “No one should be alone for Christmas.”
His eyes lit up, like the little boy I remembered.
Now, watching him in my living room with my kids, I know what I need to do.
Evan and I have some savings. We can fix up the house, and Max can live there. He could even rent out rooms for extra money.
It’s not much, but it’s a start.
The house doesn’t belong to my parents’ memory anymore. It’s time to give it new meaning.
And who knows? Maybe the money from it will help my kids in the future.
What would you have done?
