I hired the same Santa actor to come to our house for three years straight. But it was only last Christmas Eve that I stumbled upon him in the bathroom and discovered why he was so dedicated to us… actually, to my son.
Real life is often stranger than fiction. Hello there! My name is Elara, and I was 34 when this happened last year. First, some quick background: I adopted my son, Dylan, when he was six months old. That was already eight years ago.
A baby | Source: Pexels
The adoption agency found him on their doorstep (yeah, like a movie, I know) with just a note saying his name was Martin.
He was still a baby, so I decided to rename him Dylan, and it’s been just us against the world ever since. It’s hard raising a child on my own, but it’s been the most rewarding time in my life.
Every holiday became more special since I adopted him, and my favorite was Christmas. Dylan was a fuzzy baby, and I hate crowds, so instead of going to the mall, I started searching for a Santa I could hire for a photo.
A woman using a laptop | Source: Pexels
I discovered a photography studio that had its own actor, and I took my son there. However, as Dylan grew up, I thought about mixing things up.
Over three years ago, as I was still trying to come up with ideas for better Christmas traditions, I found a flyer stuck on my doorstep. It said: “Professional actor available to visit your home dressed as Santa Claus to surprise your child.”
There was a name and a phone number, and honestly? It felt heaven-sent. So, I called, and soon, Harold entered our lives.
A flyer | Source: Midjourney
He showed up that first Christmas in a Santa suit that was a little too big for him. But it was exactly what I had in mind. Dylan was five, and he totally thought it was the real Santa.
He dragged Santa around our tiny living room and showed him every single ornament on our small, weirdly decorated tree. Meanwhile, I watched from the old, thrifted couch.
But looking back, I should’ve noticed the red flags. That day, Harold stayed for THREE HOURS. He built block towers with Dylan, read stories, and even helped bake cookies.
Christmas cookies | Source: Pexels
I tried to pay him extra (which I honestly couldn’t really afford), but he straight up refused and asked me to please call him next Christmas.
A year later, I did just that, and Harold was surprisingly still in business. Most kids get a rushed mall Santa photo, right? Not Dylan.
He got personal playtime with Santa in our living room. But, I kept thinking, “Doesn’t this guy have other houses to visit?”
Santa sitting in a living room, playing with a boy | Source: Midjourney
One time I asked him about it. “You really don’t have to stay this long. Other families must be waiting,” I hinted, trying to be subtle about it.
He just smiled and said, “Oh no, Christmas Eve is reserved just for special boys like Dylan.” Again, looking back now… yeah. Something was up.
Dylan also became used to his Santa privilege and went ALL IN on these visits. He would deep clean his room (I mean, as best as a kid could) and do extra chores. As he told me, “Santa would want to see I’m being good.”
A boy helping with laundry | Source: Pexels
Fast-forward to this past Christmas. Dylan was eight and still believed in Santa, but he was slowly getting to that age where kids started asking questions.
As always, our living room was in full Christmas mode with lights everywhere, dollar store stockings by our fake fireplace (hey, we work with what we got), and our trusty artificial tree covered in eight years of random ornaments.
Dylan was excitedly talking about his science project to Harold when he made a wrong move, and suddenly, hot cocoa was covering Santa’s whole suit.
Hot chocolate in a cup | Source: Pexels
“Oh NO!” my kid bellowed like his world was ending, but Harold played it cool.
“Don’t worry, my friend. Even Santa has accidents sometimes,” he laughed, then looked at me. “Mind if I use your bathroom to clean up?”
I nodded and rushed to grab him a towel from the closet, and when I went to hand it to him… oh, boy. He had taken off the top of his costume and…no! This is not one of those stories.
Towel closet | Source: Pexels
What struck me speechless was a weird crescent-shaped birthmark on Harold’s back. It was identical to Dylan’s. What were the odds?
But wait, it gets stranger. On the bathroom counter, I saw keys to a Mercedes. Since when does a part-time Santa actor (who works for a less-than-averaged income family) drive a car like that? Also, it wasn’t outside. Did he park it far away?
Anyway, I tried to play it cool and handed over the towel without looking. But my mind was RACING.
Handing over a towel | Source: Pexels
Back in the living room, Dylan was setting up some board game Santa had said he could open early. I sat there trying to make everything make sense. The birthmark, the car, the way he always spent so much time with us…
But what happened next was the real kicker.
Harold came out of the bathroom and said, “So, Martin, ready to play again?”
A man dressed as Santa coming out of the bathroom | Source: Midjourney
MARTIN! That was the name written on the note left with Dylan when he was found on the doorstep of an orphanage eight years ago!
I lost it. Jumped up and yelled, “WHO ARE YOU AND WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?!”
Poor Dylan froze, and Harold’s mouth dropped wide.
“Mommy?” Dylan’s voice was tiny. “Why are you yelling at Santa?”
A boy looking confused with a Christmas present | Source: Pexels
I had to take a step back and inhale deeply. Also, I sent Dylan upstairs for a second. Then, I turned my eyes to “Santa.”
“The birthmark. Those keys. And you called him Martin. Start talking. Now,” I demanded, running my hands through my hair.
To my shock, Harold laughed. But it wasn’t humorously. It was like releasing a huge worry. He took off his fake beard and I saw his square jaw for the first time.
A handsome man | Source: Pexels
He looked handsome. Young. Around 40 years old, I’d say. Somehow, he also looked…rich. But most of all, he looked like my son.
Harold saw my face, and he nodded. “That’s correct. I’m his father,” he said breathlessly, and his shoulders slumped.
The background: Years ago, he was young and broke when Dylan was born. His mother left them, and Harold had no way to support his kid or any family to help out.
A man with a baby | Source: Pexels
The only solution was to give his child (the one he had named Martin) up for adoption and hope someone else could give him a good life. But he kept tabs on him… on me.
And years ago, he made up the whole Santa thing just to spend time with Dylan once a year.
He’d gotten his life together by then after starting some successful business but didn’t want to mess up Dylan’s happy life with me.
A hansome man in a suit | Source: Pexels
I won’t lie, I was mad. But also… I got it? Like, he found this weird way to be there for his son without taking him from me.
After that conversation, I asked him for some time. Harold nodded, went back to being Santa, said goodbye to Dylan, and left. But I had his contact information, and we talked regularly.
A few days later, I decided my son needed to know. I sat him down. He knew he was adopted, but this was different. At first, he was skeptical. “Mom, Santa can’t be my dad,” he rolled his eyes at me.
A boy | Source: Pexels
“No, silly,” I said and sighed. “You should know by now that Santa is a real man under that suit. The one who visits us every year is called Harold.”
And then, I went into detail with all I knew. Dylan took a while to digest the information, and a day later, he told me he wanted to talk to Harold. I knew that would be his response because my kid loved him already, even if at first he thought he was Santa.
The next weekend, I invited Harold to our house for dinner, and he came over without his costume for the first time. It was still a little strange, but we got used to it.
People having dinner | Source: Pexels
After a few hours, Dylan was his usual self, chatty and excited. He wanted to show off to his biological father. By the end of the night, we agreed to set up visits every weekend.
Every weekend turned into every other night… And every other night turned into every day. To my even bigger surprise, Harold took an interest in me too.
As Santa, he had asked about me, but I always thought that was just out of politeness. Not anymore, though. It took us three months after the big revelation to confess our feelings for each other.
A man kissing a woman’s hand | Source: Pexels
A few more months later (just last week, I mean!) he proposed to me. In his Santa suit. It was more romantic than it sounds, and I just needed to share this story.
Life is weird sometimes. My kid got the dad he never thought he’d get, I found love, and it all started because I hired a Santa!
Our family of two was doing fine, even if money was never plentiful. But along with love, Harold gave us the world with the success he built after struggling for years. It was my dream come true.
Also, we’re getting married this Christmas!!
A boy lookihng up at a groom and bride | Source: Midjourney
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
Girls Visit Dad’s Grave in New Dresses, Find 2 Mysterious Boxes with Their Names
To honor their father’s last wish, two young girls visit his grave on his birthday to show him their cute new dresses. Near the headstone, they spot two beautifully wrapped boxes with their names on them, not knowing what surprises are inside.
Six-year-old Isla and her sister, Madison, who is eight, missed their dad, Brian, deeply. Since he had passed away, their lives felt different. They no longer sneaked cookies and ice cream from the kitchen at night, teamed up to tease their mom, or went shopping like they used to. Without Daddy Brian, those little adventures just weren’t the same.
“You’re spoiling those girls, Brian!” his wife, Linda, would often say with a laugh. “Why do you always gang up against me? I know you’re sneaking them treats from the pantry!”
“Well, I’ll spoil them for the rest of my life!” Brian would say, smiling widely. “They will always come first for me as long as I live! I’m sorry, honey, but you’ve got competition! And you know, I love all my girls—including you,” he’d say, hugging her.
Brian was that kind of person, always balancing everything with love. He was the perfect family man. But after he passed, everything changed. Isla and Madison grew quiet, and Linda, his wife, struggled to cope with his loss.
Linda’s last memories of Brian were heartbreaking. She watched him lose a battle to stage four cancer, feeling helpless. Doctors tried their best, but the illness took him away. Brian’s health kept getting worse, and one morning, he didn’t wake up. Isla and Madison had slept beside him in the hospital the night before, as Brian had asked. He probably sensed it was his last night with them.
At 4 a.m. the next day, Linda called the doctors, worried. They gently informed her, “Time of death: 4 a.m. Tuesday…” Linda was devastated, staring as they covered Brian’s face with a white hospital sheet.
After his death, Linda couldn’t bring herself to say goodbye. Her daughters, though, were braver—they attended his funeral. Linda, however, couldn’t bear to watch him being buried.
One of Brian’s last wishes was for his girls to visit him on his birthday, wearing their best outfits. “I want my little girls to look their prettiest. You must promise to visit me,” he had said. So, the day before his birthday, the girls asked Linda to take them shopping.
“Mommy,” Isla said, “Daddy loved my red dress. He got me one for my birthday. I want a red dress.”
“You can pick for me, Mom,” Madison added. “I want it to be Dad’s favorite color.”
Linda hesitated, still in grief. “I—I don’t think I can, girls,” she said, trying to avoid the topic.
“But we need to visit Daddy!” Isla insisted. “He wanted us to wear something pretty on his birthday.”
Linda’s heart softened, realizing she’d forgotten his birthday. “What did he ask you?” she asked, teary-eyed.
“Daddy wanted to see us in pretty dresses on his birthday,” Isla replied. “We have to go shopping, Mommy!”
Linda hadn’t known this was Brian’s last wish. Madison explained, “The night before he died, he held our hands and asked. Please, Mom? Isla misses Daddy a lot.”
Madison was wise for her age, sensing how important this was. Finally, she convinced Linda to go shopping.
“Alright,” Linda said. “Let’s get you both the prettiest outfits so Daddy knows what he’s missing!” She burst into tears, and her daughters hugged her.
“Dad wouldn’t want you to be sad, Mom,” Madison whispered.
The next day, on Brian’s birthday, the girls dressed up and walked hand-in-hand to his grave, with Linda following behind.
When they reached his grave, they spotted two wrapped boxes with their names on them. A small note on top said they were from Brian.
“Mommy!” Isla called out. “Look, Daddy left us gifts! He’s so silly—he doesn’t know we should give him gifts on his birthday!”
Madison exchanged a glance with Linda, understanding that the gifts couldn’t really be from Brian.
” Well, maybe he missed his daughters,” Linda smiled. “Go ahead and open them.”
The girls unwrapped the boxes, and Linda tried to hide her tears. Isla beamed with joy, while Madison cried for the first time since Brian’s death.
Inside each box was a lovely pair of pink Mary Janes and a letter from Brian.
“Shoes!” Isla exclaimed. “My favorite color!”
The letter read:
“My prettiest girls,
The angels here say you’re the most beautiful girls ever. I wanted to make you even prettier, so I picked these shoes. I hope you like them.
Remember, I’m not around you, but I’m always in your heart. I know you’re not sneaking cookies anymore. Don’t tell Mommy, but I saw her filling the pantry with cookies again! Next time, I want to hear stories about how you managed to sneak some. Just because Daddy isn’t there doesn’t mean you have to be perfectly good all the time.
Thank you for visiting me, and happy birthday to my beautiful girls. Daddy loves you and misses you.
With love,
Brian.”
“That’s too much to read!” Isla said. “Madison, what did Daddy say?”
Madison hugged her tightly. “He said he’s happy and wants us to be happy, too. He misses us. Thank you for this, Mom,” she added, knowing Linda was behind the gifts.
Linda smiled, grateful for her girls, who helped her step out of her grief and gave her the strength to honor Brian’s memory.
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