Snow still covered the ground the morning after the storm, but school wasn’t canceled. Roads had been cleared, and the cold was crisp but not unbearable. By the time dinner rolled around, the kids were back at home, rosy-cheeked and loud, and full of questions for Uncle Jasper, who usually had a story ready by the fire.

But that night, Jasper didn’t come downstairs.

“I think he’s just tired,” Mom said, placing a casserole on the table. “He’s not sick. Probably just avoiding the noise.”

Lucy looked worried. “He’s never missed dinner.”

“We’ll check on him later,” Dad said. “Let’s eat.”

Halfway through the meal, the old wooden door creaked, and Uncle Jasper shuffled in, wrapped in his thick cardigan. He sat by the fireplace in his usual chair.

“Uncle!” said Hugh, excited. “You promised you’d tell us the story about the Missing Trophy tonight!”

Jasper smiled faintly. “I did, didn’t I?”

He stared into the fire for a while, quiet. Then finally he spoke.

“You know, when I was about your age, there was a big deal at my school—this shiny silver trophy that was always displayed in the glass case by the principal’s office. Every year, the Student Leadership Award went to someone who really stepped up. Helped others. Did the right thing. That year, everyone expected Matt Thompson to win it. He was the golden boy—helped organize fundraisers, stayed after school to tutor, always remembered his ‘thank yous.’”

“Let me guess,” said Frank. “It didn’t go to Matt.”

“It didn’t even make it to awards day,” said Jasper. “The trophy went missing. Gone. Case unlocked. Just a little note inside: ‘Sorry, needed a break.’”

The kids burst into laughter.

“But wait,” said Lucy. “Was it a prank?”

“Everyone thought so,” said Jasper. “But they blamed Matt. Said he did it to make a point, because he’d heard someone else might win. The rumors got ugly. He was suspended from student council, and I—I didn’t speak up.”

The room went quiet.

“Why?” asked Hugh.

Jasper stared at the flames. “Because I knew who took it.”

“You?” said Frank.

Jasper nodded. “I didn’t mean to keep it. I’d just had a really bad week. Lost my lunch money, flunked a test, and overheard my teacher say I was ‘coasting on charm.’ That trophy always seemed to shine so bright. I thought if I held it—just for a while—I’d remember what it felt like to be proud.”

“So what happened?” asked Lucy.

“I meant to return it the next day, but then school was closed for weather. Then more snow. Then… I chickened out. By the time school reopened, Matt had been blamed. And I stayed quiet.”

The kids sat stunned.

“I never forgot,” said Jasper softly. “Not because I stole anything. But because I let someone else take the fall for something I could’ve made right.”

“But you told someone, right?” asked Frank.

“I didn’t,” Jasper admitted. “Not until a week later—when the snow finally melted.”

“What does snow have to do with it?” Hugh asked.

Jasper chuckled. “Because I buried the trophy in our backyard under a tarp, hidden under fresh snow. When it melted, the tarp showed through. My mom found it, and I had to explain everything.”

“And Matt?” Lucy asked.

“He was cleared. The school let him back on council. He even laughed a little when I told him the truth. Said, ‘You could’ve just asked to hold it.’”

Everyone laughed, even Jasper.

“That story haunted me for years,” he said. “Not because of what I did, but because I didn’t make it right sooner. But I learned something important: sometimes, owning up is scary, but it’s better than letting someone else carry your mistake.”

The kids were quiet for a moment. Then Lucy said, “I think Matt was lucky to have a friend who finally told the truth.”

Jasper gave her a small smile. “He was luckier than I deserved.”

Just then, Hugh peeked out the window. “Hey—it’s thawing out there.”

“Fitting,” Jasper said, stretching. “The thaw always brings things to the surface.”

He got up slowly. “Well, that’s my story. I’m off to bed. You kids—don’t bury anything important in the snow.”

As he walked up the stairs, Lucy whispered, “Do you think we’d forgive each other like that?”

“I hope so,” said Hugh. “Especially if I ever borrow your phone and forget to return it.”

“Don’t push your luck,” Lucy muttered—but she was smiling.

_{“The Lost Trophy” by Nina D. Smith. Published by  Bright Bunny Books © 2025. Retelling of “The Thaw” from Footprints: A Story of the Snow by Annette Lyster, originally published in 1889.}

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“The Lost Trophy” is intended for students in grades 5–7, offering an emotionally resonant narrative about honesty, forgiveness, and growing up, told through a relatable family storytelling moment.