While opening Christmas presents, my 5-year-old son suddenly shouted, “YES! The other mom kept her promise!” — then, after a long pause, my husband finally spoke. At that point, my husband and I had been a couple for six years. We had one child — our son was five. Life felt far from perfect, but it was steady. Predictable. I relied on that. Last Christmas morning followed the usual pattern in our house — wrapping paper strewn everywhere, coffee cooling, our son practically vibrating with excitement. All the presents beneath the tree were ones we had planned together. Or so I believed. My husband handed our son a medium-sized box and said, “This one’s from Santa.” Our son ripped it open and paused for a moment.
Then his face brightened. Inside sat a toy car — not just any car, but a costly, collector-style model I knew we could never justify buying on a whim. I had seen it once in a shop window and immediately dismissed it. Our son gasped, hugged it to his chest, and shouted, joyful and loudly: “YES! The other mom kept her promise! I knew it!” The room fell quiet. “The… other mom?” I said carefully, forcing a smile. My son nodded, still grinning. “Yeah! She said if I was really good, she’d make sure I got it for Christmas.” I turned slowly toward my husband. He did not look amused. “Who is the other mom?” I asked, my voice steady but thin. My son glanced between us, suddenly unsure. “Dad knows her,” he said. “She comes sometimes. She told me not to worry.” Not to worry. That’s when my husband finally spoke.
