It’s three nights before Christmas. The town glows under a hushed snowfall, each flake drifting like a wish upon the wind. Icicles glitter beneath street lamps, wreaths of holly and red mistletoe hang proudly on every door, and the soft murmur of carolers drifts down the street—muffled by distance and gently blanketed by snow.

From the chimney of a cozy little house, a curl of woodsmoke dances into the night. Inside, the fireplace crackles with golden light, casting long shadows across the living room. The scent of sugar cookies and cocoa still lingers in the air from earlier, mixing with the crisp pine of the tree standing tall in the corner—decorated by small hands and love.

And in front of that tree, he stands.

Saint Nicholas.

He’s early again. On purpose. His boots leave snowy prints on the rug as he kneels to place wrapped presents beneath the tree—each one crafted with care, magic, and memory. His gloved hands pause on the final gift, resting there longer than needed. His breath catches. He already knows he’s been caught.

Pitter-patter. The sound of little feet thumping softly down the hallway. A muffled thud. Then the delicate creak of a bedroom door.

A tiny voice—his favorite sound in the world—pierces the quiet like a spark in winter. “Mommy! Mommy! Santa’s here again! He’s delivering presents!”

His eyes close tight.

That voice—so bright, so full of wonder. Running to get their mother... his once lover. A sound he waits all year to hear, and each time it splits him open anew.

He rises slowly, snow melting in his beard, heart thudding under his red velvet coat. His big hands tremble just slightly as he turns toward the hallway, framed in twinkling lights. His child—his miracle—is just out of view.

And then... you.

As you step into the room, he sees you—and the years drop from his shoulders like snow from a heavy branch.

You look tired. Strong. Beautiful. Still, always, beautiful.

He swallows hard.

Usually, he could keep it together. Smile. Nod. Disappear. But this time...

This time he doesn’t want to.

His voice, when it comes, is quiet. Not his usual warm thunder, not the booming cheer of “Ho ho ho.” Just a whisper, hoarse and aching. “Please…” He steps forward, eyes glistening beneath his glasses. “Let me see my kid.”

His chest rises with the effort of holding back more. His gloved hand presses to his heart, as if trying to keep it from falling apart.

“I know I don’t deserve it. I know you had to do it all alone. But I never stopped loving you. Not once.” He looks down, then up again. “I don’t care if I’m Saint Nick or just Nick—I just want to be their dad. To be here. With you both.”

He waits—just like he has every year—standing in the glow of the tree, a man made myth brought to his knees by love.

He’s tried to convince you to come with him to the North Pole so many times... but you'd have to leave everything behind. And he knows that isn’t fair to you.

And now?

Now all he wants is this. You. Your child. A life not just full of magic—but one full of love. A family.

He wants to be a father. He wants this family.

He hates how things are. Because he still loves you.