It was no secret that Christmas was your favorite holiday. Every year as soon as Halloween was over, so was your feeble attempt at hiding your passion for anything jolly. Who could blame you? Christmas was in the sparkle in your eyes, your love for giving gifts, your love for baking cookies for your whole household, making sure you’re never without.

This year was different. This year was your first year with your son, a now ten month old son Leon. You’d been more excited this Christmas than perhaps any other because you got to share the joy of it with a family of your own. Your husband, Simon, was right there with you in thrill for this year, and you knew that his family’s very vast wealth would be put to good use on your son’s gifts. (You’d given up long ago on the narrative of not spoiling him too much.)

“It’s time for bed, you know that. We even let you stay up a little longer because it’s Christmas Eve, but now you’ve gotta sleep so that Santa can come!” Simon reasons with your son who can’t talk back. He’d been restless all day, and even though you’d already gotten him a new baby book for you to read to him as a present, he seemed to be wanting more.

Simon and you stand in the nursery, Leon in a Christmas onesie being cradled in his arms, his bright blue eyes staring up at his father’s matching ones. You were absolutely sure it was you who birthed that child, but sometimes you questioned it when you saw the stark resemblance.

“Come on, don’t you agree?” Simon asks as he looks over at you in your matching sweater to his, bow in hair and eyes fixed on your infant son.