The fire crackled softly in the hearth of Santa's cozy study, casting warm light on the walls adorned with maps of the world and old, worn books. Chelsea and Max sat on the thick rug near the fire, their knees drawn up as Clara handed them mugs of hot cocoa topped with fluffy marshmallows. Santa sat across from them, his kind eyes reflecting the flickering flames.

"You two have been quiet tonight," Clara said gently, sitting beside Santa. "Something on your minds?"

Max glanced at Chelsea, who gave her a small nod. She took a deep breath before speaking. "I guess... we've just been thinking a lot about Jeremy. And why we care so much about helping him. Why we don't want to give up on him."

Santa leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "Because you understand what it feels like to be where he is," he said knowingly, his voice calm and steady. "I see it in the way you talk about him. You see yourselves in Jeremy, don't you?"

Chelsea and Max exchanged a glance, and Chelsea nodded. "We do. He's angry and scared, like we used to be. And no one really understands him."

Max sighed, gripping his mug tighter. "I know you already know about our dad, Santa, but... it's hard not to think about those times when we see Jeremy acting the way he does. It's like he's putting up the same walls we used to."

Clara's gaze softened, and she leaned closer. "You two have been so brave, carrying those memories and using them to help someone else. That takes a strength not many people have."

Chelsea hesitated, her voice trembling slightly. "It's not just about our dad, though. It's about how we didn't feel right—like we didn't belong in our own lives. I always felt like I wasn't supposed to be a girl. And Max, he wasn't supposed to be a boy. But no one would have understood that back then. And definitely not our dad."

Max nodded, his voice quieter now. "We tried so hard to be what he wanted us to be. But it never worked. He was always mad, and we always felt wrong. And it hurt... so much."

Santa's expression grew somber, his eyes filled with compassion. "You've carried heavy burdens for such a long time. But you've turned that pain into something beautiful: the courage to help someone else find their way."

Chelsea sniffled, wiping at her eyes. "It just feels like Jeremy's stuck, like we were. And I don't want him to feel like no one cares, or that he has to hide who he is forever."

Max added, "But it's hard. He pushes us away, just like we used to push everyone away. And I'm scared we won't be able to get through to him."

Clara reached out and placed a gentle hand on Max's shoulder. "Sometimes the bravest thing we can do is keep trying, even when it feels like we're not making progress. Jeremy may not show it yet, but your kindness is reaching him. It's planting seeds he doesn't even realize are there."

Santa nodded, his voice steady and encouraging. "Healing takes time, Max and Chelsea. You both know that better than anyone. But the two of you are living proof that it's possible. Jeremy might not be ready to see that yet, but he will. And when he does, he'll remember that you never gave up on him."

The room fell into a peaceful silence, the only sound the crackling of the fire. Max and Chelsea both felt a little lighter, as if sharing their thoughts had lifted some of the weight they'd been carrying.

Finally, Santa stood, his large frame casting a comforting shadow in the firelight. "You've already given Jeremy something priceless: hope. Even if he doesn't know it yet. Trust in that, and trust in yourselves. You're stronger than you realize."

Max and Chelsea nodded, their hearts a little steadier as they held onto Santa's words. They didn't know what the next day would bring, but for the first time in a long while, they felt like they were exactly where they needed to be.

Jeremy sat cross-legged on the floor of his small room, the book open in front of him. A single candle flickered on the windowsill, casting long shadows on the walls. The silence of the night wrapped around him as he read, his brow furrowed in concentration.

Jack's story had taken a turn. The boy in the story had begun to change, but not in a way that felt forced or sudden. Jack still struggled with his feelings, still lashed out, but the old man's patience never wavered. It frustrated Jeremy, though he couldn't figure out why. Why didn't the old man give up? Why did he keep trying to help Jack, even when Jack pushed him away?

Jeremy sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It's just a story," he muttered, but the words felt hollow. Something about Jack's journey mirrored his own, and it made him uneasy.

Outside his window, the snow fell steadily, a peaceful blanket over the world. But Jeremy's mind was anything but peaceful. He closed the book and leaned back against the wall, staring at the ceiling. The quiet pressed in on him, and for the first time in a long while, he let himself wonder: What if things could be different?

The thought was small, fragile, but it lingered. Jeremy glanced at the book again, his fingers brushing the cover. Slowly, he opened it back up and continued reading, drawn once more into the story. The next chapter saw Jack making his first gift with the old man—a carved bird, its wings poised to take flight. Jack didn't understand why it mattered, but the act of creating something, of putting his effort into it, stirred something unfamiliar inside him.

Jeremy read on, his frown softening as the story unfolded. Jack began to see the joy his gifts brought to others, and though he struggled to admit it, he found himself wanting to do more. For every step forward Jack took, there were moments of doubt, of anger, but the old man remained steadfast, guiding him with quiet patience.

Jeremy reached the final pages, where Jack, after many trials, carved a gift for the old man—a small figure of a boy holding a bird, his face lit with hope. The old man's eyes glistened as he accepted the gift, and Jack realized for the first time that he wasn't alone. Someone had seen him, truly seen him, and believed in him even when he couldn't believe in himself.

Jeremy closed the book, his heart pounding. He stared at the cover, his mind racing with thoughts and emotions he couldn't fully name. The candlelight flickered, casting shadows on the walls, but for the first time in a long while, Jeremy didn't feel entirely alone.

He set the book down carefully beside him and leaned back against the wall, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. The story lingered in his mind, the message quietly settling into the cracks of his defenses. The faint sound of sleigh bells echoed through the night once more, and this time, Jeremy didn't flinch at the sound. Instead, he closed his eyes, letting the quiet magic of the moment wash over him.