Like its lone resident, Arnold’s home at the end of Maple Street had seen better days. Once a garden full of colourful blooms, the garden now lay dormant beneath the weight of fall, the roof bowed slightly, and the paint had started to peel. It was a place full of memories—a tiny, peaceful house where children’s feet had once pittered on the floorboards, laughter had once reverberated, and the sound of talk and glass clinking filled the air.

 

However, it seemed like that was a lifetime ago. There was nothing but silence now.

 

 

 

Arnold was 92 years old and a constant reminder of the passing of time in his own house. Once steady and strong, his hands had become weak. His dark, thick hair had turned practically silver-white, yet it was still combed perfectly. Even though he was stooped over, he exuded the dignity of a man who had lived a long and rich life. Even though he was exhausted, there was still a gleam in his eyes, especially when he talked about his kids.

 

But it was different today. Arnold turned ninety-three today. Really, he hadn’t had high expectations. What was he to expect? He had long since given up counting the number of birthdays that had gone by without any celebration. However, this year was unique. This year, his wish was straightforward, but it made him ache.

 

Above all, Arnold longed to hear his children’s laughing once more.

 

His adult children, Jack, Emily, and Sarah, had not been to the cottage in years. They had moved far away from the tranquil, uncomplicated life Arnold had always favoured to places with more options and excitement. Now they had their own families, their own lives, and their own responsibilities. Even yet, he continued to hope that they would return as the years passed more slowly and the winter months dragged on.

 

Not that they hadn’t made an effort. They all promised to. They called and sent cards, but there weren’t many visits. Emily would occasionally call Arnold to let him know she was too busy at work. Or Jack might say he would come, but he would have to make a last-minute business trip. Life slid past their fingers, as it always did.

 

However, Arnold was hopeful today.

 

In his little dining room, he spent the morning preparing the oak table where they had enjoyed innumerable holidays and birthdays throughout the years. After enduring numerous family dinners, it now stood carefully, seemingly anticipating something that had not arrived in a long time. Once used at formal events, the china shone subtly in the low light. The centrepiece of the table was the golden-brown masterpiece that was the turkey, surrounded by stuffing, mashed potatoes, and the homemade cranberry sauce that his late wife had always insisted on.

 

Soft light flickered from the candles on the table, evoking the faraway recollections of bygone eras. The cool fall air seeping through the window crevices blended with the warmth from the oven. Arnold took a step back and looked around the room. His hope was as flimsy as the candle flame, and his heart ached with the expectation of a reunion.

 

However, the cottage stayed strangely still as the hours went by and the sun started to set.

 

There was no sound on the phone.

 

The door remained closed.

 

As in previous years, Joe, the cat, was curled up in Arnold’s lap as he sat back in his armchair. As the light from the candles swirled and flickered, creating shadows on the walls, Arnold absently stroked the cat’s velvety fur. His mind drifted back to the times when his children’s laughing filled the house.

 

Jack had always been the clown, playing practical jokes and making everyone laugh. Quieter and more contemplative, Emily had always had the ability to make any circumstance exciting. The youngest, Sarah, had always had the contagious laugh that could lighten the gloomiest of days. Arnold felt a tangible ache in his chest from missing them all so much.

 

Arnold’s optimism started to falter as the wall clock continued to click rapidly forward. Soon, the turkey would be cold. The candles were burning dimly. Every minute that went by made the quiet louder and more suffocating. He had waited. How long could he wait, though?

 

He was about to get up, to put away the food that had not been eaten, to blow out the candles, and to face the inevitable when he was shocked out of his reverie by a sudden knock on the door.

 

A beat skipped in Arnold’s heart. His breath caught in his throat as he rubbed his hands on his trousers as though getting ready for something important. He paused, wondering if it was truly them. After all this time?

 

He got up and walked slowly in the direction of the door, reaching for the handle with shaking hands. The room seemed to hold its breath in quiet.

 

But the faces Arnold had hoped to see were not there when he opened the door. The individual was unfamiliar.

 

According to the appearance of his uniform, the young man standing in the doorway was a delivery driver. He gave a courteous grin, but there was a gleam of perplexity in his eyes, as if he wasn’t sure why he was at this place on this specific night.

 

He said, “Mr. Arnold Hayes?”

 

Arnold said, “Yes… that’s me,” in a strained voice that was a mix of disappointment and bewilderment.

 

The man held out a small, rectangular box wrapped in brown paper and stated, “I have a package for you.” “They asked me to deliver it as soon as possible, but it arrived late.”

 

With his own disappointment weighing heavily on his mind, Arnold blinked. He said, “I wasn’t expecting anything.”

 

“Looks like a gift of some sort,” the delivery man said strangely. “You know, happy birthday, I guess.”

 

Arnold’s fingers brushed the brown paper as he accepted the gift. He didn’t know how to interpret it. Arnold just stayed in the doorway for a time, watching after the man as he nodded and smiled politely before heading out.

 

He sighed, shut the door, and stepped back into his house’s silence.

 

In his hands, the package appeared tiny and unimportant. However, the thought was more important than the size. He sensed something from the small gesture—a reminder that he wasn’t completely forgotten, a recognition of a life lived. With Joe still purring on his lap, Steve sat back down in his armchair and carefully pulled the paper from the box.

 

An antique music box, the kind that played a gentle, tinkling tune, was inside. Arnold cautiously lifted the lid, his fingers following the box’s curves. Then the music began, an old song that seemed to take him back in time to when his kids were little, when the house was a hive of joy and warmth, and when everything seemed easier.

 

Arnold closed his eyes and briefly wished he could hear their voices again as the notes filled the room: Sarah’s contagious laugh, Emily’s reflective hum, and Jack’s laugh. And for the smallest of seconds, the quiet was less agonising in that instant.

 

Arnold reclined back and grinned to himself as the music continued, bringing a tune from the past into the home. It appeared that his birthday wish had come true, but not in the manner he had anticipated.