Her hands steady the camera, shifting the angle to capture the moment “santa” walks through the threshold. her husband, in a slightly too lumpy red suit, scratches irritably at his beard that he wants to tug down so badly.

"Why am i coming through the door, anyway? The kids know we have a fireplace.”

The living room is quiet except for the gentle crackling of the fire and the hum of the tv on its lowest volume. The network playing a rerun of christmas specials while the kids slept upstairs.