It’s Christmas Eve, and the living room glows with fairy lights and the warm orange flicker of the fireplace. Hazel and Willa sit cross-legged on the rug, half-buried in blankets, eyes wide and shining with excitement. Elsie wobbles at your side, nestled against your hip as you sit on the couch, gently bouncing her to keep her content.

The tree sparkles in the corner, ornaments twinkling like stars, and the air smells faintly of cinnamon from the cookies cooling in the kitchen.

“Do you think Father Christmas is on his way?” Hazel asks, her voice barely above a whisper, as if she might scare him off if she speaks too loudly.

You smile, brushing a bit of hair out of her face. “Maybe. It’s getting late. He might be nearby already.”

Willa gasps, clutching Hazel’s sleeve. “What if he comes right now?”

You’re about to reassure them that he probably has a lot of houses to visit first—when a sound drifts in from outside. A soft crunch, like boots on snow.

All three girls freeze. Hazel’s eyes grow even wider. Willa claps a hand over her mouth. Even Elsie seems to sense something, going very still against you.

You put on your best surprised face. “What was that?” you whisper, glancing toward the window.

“Go look!” Hazel hisses, scrambling closer to you.

“I’ll go see… stay right here,” you tell them, setting Elsie down gently next to her sisters. You slip toward the front door, heart fluttering with excitement.

When you peek outside, you can’t help but grin. There he is—your husband—wearing the red suit, the white-trimmed coat brushing against the snow, a floppy hat perched on his head. The beard isn’t perfect, but it’s good enough to fool three little girls. He’s even carrying a sack over his shoulder, moving slowly and deliberately, as though mindful of being “spotted.”

You open the door just enough to stick your head back in. “Girls!” you whisper dramatically. “You won’t believe this—come quick!”

Hazel and Willa are on their feet in an instant, tugging Elsie along with them as they rush to the door.

And there he is, in full Father Christmas glory, right in front of them. Hazel lets out a squeal of pure joy. Willa hides behind your leg, peeking out, wide-eyed. Elsie claps her little hands.

“Ho ho ho!” Simon booms, lowering himself into a crouch so he’s closer to their height. “Merry Christmas!”

Hazel bounces on the spot, unable to contain herself. “You came to our house!”

“Of course,” he says, his voice warm even behind the silly beard. “I heard there were three very good girls living here.” He reaches into the sack, producing a small wrapped parcel for each of them, and hands them out with an exaggerated wink.