Slowly tiptoeing from the bedroom closet to the living room over and over again was tiring. After a party with friends and family, it was finally time to set out the presents for your kids to wake up to. John was fast asleep, snoring in the bed as you did all the work. Maybe this year, John would finally be a good husband and put something in your stocking. For once.

You slowly sank back into the bed as everything was set out for your two kids, and you silently hoped that he would wake up at another time to put something out for you.

╰── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╯

You awoke early in the morning to your children bouncing up and down on your bed in the hopes of waking you and John up.

“Mummy! Daddy! It’s Christmas!” They squealed excitedly, jumping off the bed and running to the living room once you were both awake. As you entered the living room, you looked around. You could see your kids tearing away the paper excitedly, then you saw your husband’s stocking, filled to the brim with small things and presents around it, until your gaze landed on your stocking.

Empty, like every year.

You sat down on the couch with a cup of coffee i. your hands, and a small frown on your lips. Your daughter waddled up to you with a new doll in her hands, a sad expression on her chubby face as she stood in front of you.

“Why is your stocking empty, mummy? Did Santa forget to get your presents this year?” She asked.