"Phineas!" my dad shouted.

"Hi, dad", I said to him as we hugged. It was really nice to see him again. I don't know why, it was just... nice.

"Merry Christmas, dad."

"Merry Christmas, son", he replied happily. "Come on in."

I rubbed my shoes off the doormat on the door, and came in. My dad's apartment looked very nice. Through the long hallway was stretched a dark-red carpet. On the left was a wardrobe, mostly with suits. On the right, there was an empty orange wall and an entrance to the bathroom.

I opened another door at the end of the hallway and saw a really fantastic living room. Three feet in front of me, there was a working table, with all kinds of books and papers on it. (And also a typewriter.) The red couch on a big green carpet, in the exact middle of the living room, was facing a fireplace left to me. The fire from it, alongside with a little reading lamp on the working table, was the only source of light in the room. But no more of it was necessary, though. Above the fireplace, a not too big plasma TV showed off. Next to the couch, there was also an armchair. On the wall opposing me, the only thing hanging was my dad's lawyer diploma, left to which was the entrance to the kitchen. Finally, on the wall on my left, the windows were showing yet another fantastic view of New York.

This place I found amusing.

"Want some ice cream?" my dad asked me, coming out of the kitchen with two bowls of ice cream, one for himself and one for me. It made no sense to me to eat ice cream on winter, so I refused it.

"OK then. More for me", he said and smiled at the ice cream.

I was still observing this room. I found it rather strange that my dad lived a life like this. After what my mom told me, plus what my dad himself said, after hearing he had been devastated to leave our family, I expected that he would barely be able to make all of his ends meet, or something like that. Instead, I was positively surprised to see him live in this cozy surrounding. I thought: "Man, this is awesome."

While I was still looking around, my dad asked me something, his mouth now full of that ice cream.

"Why on Christmas?"

"Huh?" I replied, not understanding what he meant.

"Why did you come visit me on the evening of Christmas day, barely a day after we met?"

And then, I remembered why I had done that. I wanted to get my mind off Isabella's death, to not be sad and angry all day, to not just lie in bed and cry. To forget that I have no one on my side anymore. But she was still gone. And nothing I did would bring her back. And now that my dad mentioned this... I remembered it all over again. And I was reminded of the fact that I would never see Isabella again. The very means of this trip of mine to New York was to forget all that. Apparently, it didn't work.

I knew my dad was waiting for a response, but I cried. Yes, again.

"Hey, what's wrong?" my dad sat next to me. I was still crying, so I couldn't start speaking. The thoughts of Isabella were going through my mind rapidly. There was nothing else I could concentrate myself to. I was sad. I was... honestly sad.

"Phineas, please, don't cry", my dad tried to comfort me. It was somewhat actually working. "Tell me what happened."

I stopped crying. Still looking down on the floor, I tried to retrieve my sanity. I recalled the events of the last twenty-four hours, trying not to burst into tears again. In the process, I started to feel much weaker in my heart than usually, so I made pauses every now and then, sniffing.

"Uh... My... Someone very important in my life... died. Yesterday. And today... I was on her funeral... Just me. ... Nobody else. She was a... hm... a perfect woman. ... At least for me... She was... a beam of light... I became a stupid... selfish man... I stopped trusting people... But she was still there for me. ... I really loved her... And just yesterday... On Christmas Eve, for goodness' sake... hmh..." I couldn't finish the sentence. But my dad knew what I meant. He knew I was left alone. With nobody to rely on.

So he put his ice cream down and looked me carefully in the eyes.

"It's okay, son. Look, I went through a similar thing when I left your mother. At first I thought I wouldn't make it, I would be poor and everything. But then, I found a job, and a nice apartment, and here I am, living a proper life. See, the most important thing to do, after you go through something bad in your life, is to move on. And not try to change what happened or anything, because you'll only get in more trouble. Just move on with your life. You will recover in the end. And don't be so depressed just because you lost something you loved. There are plenty of other things to be happy about."

I looked at my dad, and then at the fireplace. He was right. If I stayed like this until further notice, I would become a coward, and lose all my interest in everything. I would just stare at a ceiling for my whole life. So I accepted my dad's words.

"Thank you", I said, and I hugged him again. It was kind of ironic that a person whom I'd known for only a day gave me probably the best life advice I've ever heard.

"Great", he replied. "Now, it's late, so let's just get some sleep and tomorrow, we'll meet properly and we'll go somewhere to eat. What do you say?"

"Sounds great."

"Alright then. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, dad", I said to him as he went to his room.

I looked around once more to see this apartment.

"This is a great place", I thought to myself. "If only Isabella was to see this..."

I sighed. But then, I lied back on the couch and fell asleep instantly.