My daughter opened her Christmas gift and found an empty box. My father laughed and said kids like her didn’t deserve presents

“Maybe… maybe we can try again.”

We moved into the kitchen for hot chocolate, letting the tension cool with the rising steam from the mugs. Ava sat at the table drawing doodles with her crayons while my father stood by the counter, fingers tapping nervously against the ceramic tile.

“She’s a good kid,” he said finally, eyes softening as he watched her. “Better than I deserve.”

“You’re right,” I replied, not harshly but truthfully. “But she’s also forgiving. She gives people chances.”
I paused. “You got one today. What you do after this matters.”

He nodded, shoulders slumping a little under the weight of his own history. “I don’t want to be the man I was,” he whispered.
“And I don’t expect you to become someone perfect,” I said. “Just someone present.”

The house felt strangely quiet after that—calm, almost steady. My father approached Ava’s chair slowly, as though he wasn’t sure he had permission to enter her orbit.

“Ava,” he said, kneeling beside her. “I owe you a real gift. Something more than an empty box.”

She handed him a crayon. “You can draw with me.”

It was such a simple invitation, yet it hit him harder than anything else that morning. He took the crayon, awkward at first, and began drawing beside her—a crooked snowman with too-long arms, which made Ava giggle. The sound seemed to loosen something in him, something wound tight for decades.

When they finished, she held up the page proudly. “See? We made it together.”

My father stared at the drawing as though it were some fragile miracle. “Yeah,” he murmured, voice cracking. “We did.”

For once, the moment didn’t feel forced or temporary. It felt real—like the beginning of something that had been missing for far too long.

As the afternoon sun filtered through the window, he looked at me, silently asking whether the door he’d closed years ago might still be cracked open. Whether a single photo, a single small act of kindness, could shift the trajectory of a lifetime.

I didn’t give him an answer in words. I simply handed him a cup of hot chocolate and sat beside him. Perhaps that was answer enough.

And as for you—the one reading this now—tell me honestly:
If someone in your past showed up today, asking for another chance, would you open the door… or leave it closed?

I’d love to hear how you think this story should continue. What would you have done in my place?