His Reignited Flame
Language: en
My son’s fever was raging, and all he did was cry for Santa Claus. I tried to coax him, promising that if he just drank his medicine, I’d take him to see Santa. But he knocked the bowl from my hand, shattering it on the floor. “No! Daddy promised he’d take me,” he insisted. A shard of porcelain sliced across the back of my hand, and little beads of blood welled up. I started picking up the pieces, trying to explain. “Your father’s busy with work, sweetie. Besides, he thinks Christmas is silly.” The boy just yawned, his eyes glassy and unfocused. “He’ll be there,” he mumbled, his voice…