The Last Ornament

Remember no matter how many storms passed the smallest lights always found a way to shine

The storm had rolled in just after sunset, dusting the small town with a glittering coat of snow. Inside the cozy little house on Maple Lane, twelve-year-old Riley was dragging a dusty box from the closet, determined to finish decorating the tree before New Year’s Eve.

Her grandmother watched from the recliner with a soft smile.
“Careful with that one, sweetheart. It’s older than me.”

Riley blew the dust away and lifted a small, wooden ornament shaped like a star. It wasn’t shiny like the others, and the paint had faded long ago—but there was something comforting about it.

“You always save this one for last,” Riley said.

“That’s because it’s special.” Her grandmother nodded. “It was the only ornament your great-grandfather could carve the year our family had almost nothing. A simple star, cut from firewood. He said it reminded him that even one tiny light could guide you through the dark.”

Riley held the star gently. “Can I put it on the tree this year?”

Her grandmother hesitated only a second before saying yes.

As Riley clipped the ornament to a branch near the top, the room seemed to warm. The lights twinkled brighter, casting soft reflections across the walls. For a moment, everything felt peaceful—like the house was holding its breath, remembering every holiday gone by.

Grandma took a shaky breath. “You know, New Year’s is about starting over. But it’s also about carrying the good things with us.”

Riley stepped beside her. “Like this star?”

“Exactly.”

They stood together, watching the lights dance across the little wooden ornament. Outside, the cold wind blew, but inside the house, a quiet warmth wrapped around them—gentle, glowing, steady.

A reminder that no matter how many storms passed, the smallest lights always found a way to shine.