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.
I Gave Birth to a Child After 20 Years of Waiting & Treatment — When My Husband Saw Him, He Said, ‘Are You Sure This One Is Mine?’
The day my son was born should have been the happiest of my life. Instead, it was the day my entire world began to fall apart. When my husband finally showed up at the hospital, what he said left me questioning everything.
I’ve been married to my husband, Ethan, for 21 years. For most of that time, we’ve battled infertility. I’ve shed more tears than I ever thought possible—tears of hope, disappointment, and despair.
Stressed out woman | Source: Midjourney
When we first started trying, Ethan seemed supportive enough, attending doctor’s appointments and holding my hand as we navigated the maze of treatments. But as the years dragged on, something shifted. He started behaving… differently.
I brushed it off for the longest time, convincing myself it was just the strain of our situation. After all, infertility takes its toll on a marriage. But his late nights at work and secret calls became more frequent.
I’d hear him murmur things like, “I’ll call you later,” before quickly hanging up when I walked in.
Man seated in his office at night | Source: Midjourney
It was unsettling, but I chose not to focus on it. I was so consumed by the desperate desire for a child that I couldn’t allow myself to spiral into paranoia.
By the time I turned 40, I had nearly given up hope. But something in me—call it stubbornness or sheer desperation—refused to let go completely. I decided to try one last time. Ethan seemed indifferent, mumbling something about “whatever makes you happy” when I told him about my decision. That hurt more than I cared to admit.
And then, against all odds, it happened. I got pregnant.
A person holding a positive pregnancy test | Source: Pexels
“Ethan,” I’d whispered, holding the positive pregnancy test in shaky hands. “We did it. I’m pregnant.”
“That’s… great. That’s really great,” he said, but his tone was off. Forced. I ignored it, focusing on my own joy.
Nine months later, I gave birth to a beautiful baby boy. Ethan refused to be in the delivery room
“I’ll just pass out,” he’d said when I begged him to stay. “They’ll end up taking care of me instead of you.”
So, I went through it alone. And when he finally walked into the hospital room two hours later, his first words shattered me.
“Are you sure this one’s mine?” he said, his voice cold and flat.
Newborn baby covered in blue blanket | Source: Pexels
I felt like I’d been slapped. “What? Ethan, how can you even ask me that? Of course, he’s yours! We’ve been trying for this baby for years!“
His jaw tightened, and he reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out something I couldn’t see. “I have proof,” he said.
My world tilted. What proof? What could he possibly mean?
He started telling me this wild story about how his mother had “proof” I’d been unfaithful—photos of a man supposedly waiting for me outside our house, and how she claimed no baby had been delivered from the room I gave birth in, but that someone had brought in a different baby to make it look like mine.
Man standing in a hospital room | Source: Pexels
I stared at him, dumbfounded. “This is insane. It’s all lies! You really believe her?”
“She wouldn’t lie to me,” he said, his tone cold. “She’s my mother.”
“And I’m your wife. The one who went through everything to have this baby. The one who almost died giving birth to him! And you’re standing here accusing me of…” I couldn’t even finish the sentence.
He turned on his heel, his expression unreadable. “I’ll be back when I’m ready to talk,” he said, walking out the door and leaving me sitting there, trembling with rage and hurt.
Woman holding her newborn baby | Source: Midjourney
The moment he left, I grabbed my phone and called my best friend, Lily. She picked up on the first ring.
“Claire? What’s wrong?”
I couldn’t hold back the tears. “He thinks I cheated on him. He said his mom has proof. Lily, it’s insane. I don’t know what to do.”
“Okay, slow down,” she said, her voice calm but firm. “Start from the beginning.”
By the time I finished explaining, Lily’s voice had taken on a hard edge. “Something’s not right, Claire. You need to watch him. He is not acting normal.”
Woman on phone | Source: Midjourney
“Watch him? How?”
“I’ll do it,” she said without hesitation. “If he’s up to something, I’ll find out.”
Hours later, she called back after tracking him. “Claire, he went to another woman’s house. I saw him go in.”
My heart stopped. “What?”
“Listen to me,” Lily said urgently. “This doesn’t add up. You need help—professional help. Hire someone who can dig into this.”
Emotional woman on phone | Source: Midjourney
A few days later, I contacted Lydia, a private investigator Lily had highly recommended. She listened intently, as I recounted every detail.
“This is messy,” she said finally, her sharp eyes meeting mine. “But I’ll get answers. Give me two days.”
Two days. All I could do now was wait.
When I brought Liam home from the hospital, Ethan wasn’t there. No text, no call—just a chilling, empty silence.
What kind of father doesn’t show up for his son?
Woman holding a newborn baby | Source: Midjourney
The waiting was unbearable. I checked my phone every five minutes, hoping for a word from Lydia, the private investigator. When the doorbell rang early the next morning, I almost jumped out of my skin.
Lydia’s face was serious, her lips pressed into a thin line. “We need to talk.”
I led her into the kitchen, settling Liam into his bassinet. Lydia’s eyes softened when she glanced at him.
She leaned forward, her voice calm but deliberate. “I spoke with Ethan’s sister.”
Women having a serious conversation | Source: Midjourney
“His sister?” My eyebrows knitted. “We don’t talk. She’s… well—”
“She’s not an addict as you think” Lydia interrupted. “She’s been sober for years, and she told me a lot—things that are going to change everything for you.”
“What kind of things?” I asked.
“Ethan married you for your money,” she said bluntly. “His entire family knew. They planned it from the beginning.”
Women having a serious conversation | Source: Midjourney
“What?” My voice cracked, my grip tightening on the edge of the table.
“For the past twenty years, he’s been siphoning money from your inheritance. Not just for himself, but to support another family—his other family. He has three children with another woman.”
“No… you’re wrong,” I shouted.
“I’m not,” Lydia said, sliding a folder toward me. “It’s all here—bank records, medical bills, and photos. And there’s more. It looks like Ethan might’ve been sabotaging your attempts to conceive.”
A person receiving printed documents | Source: Pexels
I froze, staring at her. “What… what do you mean?”
“Some of the clinics you went to—there’s evidence he tampered with things. He didn’t want you to get pregnant, Claire.”
My chest felt tight. I could barely breathe.
Lydia’s words hung in the air, suffocating me. I could barely think. “Sabotaging my treatments?” I whispered, my voice trembling. “Another family? How… how could he do this to me?”
Stressed out woman | Source: Midjourney
I glanced at Liam in his bassinet, his tiny hand curling and uncurling in sleep. The weight of twenty years crashed over me like a tidal wave. Memories I’d once cherished now felt tainted. The little gestures of love, the whispered promises of forever—it had all been a lie.
The sobs started quietly, but soon they came in waves, shaking me to my core. How could I have been so blind? So foolish? I’d spent years blaming myself—my body—for our struggles to conceive, while Ethan had been sabotaging me.
Stressed out woman | Source: Midjourney
I thought of every late-night appointment, every failed treatment, and every moment I’d spent crying in the dark while he faked concern.
“I trusted him,” I said aloud, my voice breaking. “I loved him, Lydia. I gave him everything.”
Lydia stood, placing a steadying hand on my arm. “And that’s why you have to fight back, Claire. He doesn’t deserve your tears. Think about Liam. He needs you strong.”
I looked at Liam, my tears slowing as anger replaced the grief. Lydia was right. My son needed me. I wiped my face, my resolve hardening with every breath.
Mother cradling her newborn baby | Source: Midjourney
“You’re right,” I said finally, my voice steadier now. “I’m not going to let him get away with this.”
I picked up my phone, staring at the screen for a long moment before dialing. “James,” I said when my lawyer answered. “We need to talk. It’s about Ethan.”
A few days later, I heard the familiar rumble of Ethan’s car pulling into the driveway. The divorce papers were laid out neatly on the kitchen table, ready for him.
I stayed in the living room, Liam nestled in his bassinet beside me, as I waited for him to walk in. The door opened, and Ethan stepped inside.
Mother holding her baby | Source: Midjourney
“Claire?” he called, his tone tentative, like he already knew he was walking into a trap.
“I’m here,” I said, keeping my voice steady.
I didn’t waste a second. “Why are you abandoning your son?” I asked, each word deliberate and sharp.
He blinked, startled. “What? I’m not abandoning anyone. Claire, I… I’m sorry, okay? I was confused and emotional. I said a lot of stupid things that I didn’t mean. None of it was true.”
“Really?” I tilted my head. “Then why didn’t you pick us up from the hospital? Where were you for three days? Why didn’t you answer my calls?”
Couple having a disagreement | Source: Midjourney
He hesitated, but then his expression smoothed into that familiar, disarming smile. “I had an urgent business trip,” he said, his voice oozing fake sincerity.
“Claire, I swear, I wasn’t ignoring you. I would never do that. I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”
“Interesting,” I said, leaning back slightly. “What are your three kids’ names?”
His entire face froze. The smile evaporated, replaced by a look of pure shock. For the first time, the mask slipped, and I saw the man underneath—the liar, the manipulator.
“I—” he started, but no words came out.
Couple having a disagreement | Source: Midjourney
“Save it,” I said, cutting him off with an icy glare. “I know everything, Ethan. When you leave today,” I said, standing and turning toward the stairs, “make sure to grab the divorce papers from the kitchen table. Thanks.”
I didn’t wait for his reply. I carried Liam upstairs, my heart racing.
A moment later, I heard the front door slam shut. When I came back down later, the papers were gone. It was finally over.
After a couple of few weeks, the settlement was finalized. Ethan left with a modest payout—a sum I considered a bargain to rid my life of his toxic presence. The house, cars, and businesses stayed with me, thanks to the mountain of evidence my legal team presented.
Woman in deep thoughts | Source: Midjourney
My lawyers were also building strong cases against Ethan and the fertility clinics that had conspired with him. “This will take time,” my attorney, James, warned me. “But I’m confident we’ll win.”
Time was something I was willing to invest in. For now, my focus was on Liam. He deserved a life free of lies, and deceit.
One evening, as I rocked Liam to sleep, I whispered softly to him, “I’ll make sure you never grow up doubting your worth, little one.”
Mother cradling her baby to sleep | Source: Midjourney
If you enjoyed this story, you won’t want to miss this one: I left my newborn with my husband for a work trip — When I got back, he was acting strange. His reason left me stunned.
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.
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