Ed woke to someone pounding on his trailer door.

He stumbled out of bed, disoriented, checking his watch. 7:23 AM. December 26th.

Bobby stood on his doorstep, holding two cups of coffee and grinning like a lunatic.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Bobby said, pushing past Ed into the trailer. “Kept thinking about yesterday. Kept thinking maybe I dreamed it. But then I checked my phone and saw the bank deposit notification. Fifty percent raise. Back pay. Five years.” His voice cracked. “It’s real, isn’t it?”

“It’s real.”

“Linda cried for an hour last night. Timmy keeps asking if he’s really going to get better.” Bobby set down the coffees, wiping his eyes. “I came by to say thank you. And to ask what you want to tackle today.”

“Today?”

“You said we’re fixing this place. Really fixing it. I figured we should get started.”

Ed laughed—a sound that felt rusty, unfamiliar. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s get started.”

They walked out into the cold morning air. The park looked different in daylight—or maybe Ed just saw it differently now. He noticed things he’d ignored for years: the way the Patterson family’s trailer leaned slightly to one side, the rust eating through the supports of the community center awning, the pothole near trailer twelve that had been there so long it had become a landmark.

So much to fix. So much to rebuild.

But not impossible. Not anymore.

Near the dumpsters, Ed saw movement. The three feral children emerged from behind a trash bin, watching him warily. The oldest—a girl, maybe ten years old—held the empty food box from last night. She stared at Ed for a long moment, then slowly raised one hand in what might have been a wave or might have been a question.

Ed waved back.

The girl didn’t run. That was something.

“They’re still there,” Bobby said quietly. “The kids.”

“I know. We’re going to help them. I don’t know how yet, but we will.”

“We’ve got time to figure it out.”

“Yeah,” Ed said, looking out at the park—his park, his community, his responsibility, his home. “Yeah, we do.”

Rocky’s truck pulled up, bed loaded with more supplies. His kids tumbled out, excited to help. Maria brought thermoses of hot chocolate.

And from trailer thirty-four, Margie emerged, no longer packing, no longer preparing to leave. She waved at Ed, a small gesture that felt enormous.

The morning sun broke through the clouds, casting long shadows across the snow-covered park. Somewhere, a child laughed. Someone’s Christmas lights were still on, blinking out of sync, cheerful and imperfect.

Ed Scott Ruje took a deep breath of cold air and felt, for the first time in twenty years, like he was exactly where he was supposed to be.

“Alright,” he said, turning to Bobby and Rocky. “Let’s get to work.”

And they did.

* * *

THE END

“No space of regret can make amends for one life’s opportunity misused.” – Charles Dickens

God bless us, every one.