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The house was quiet, wrapped in warm lights and the lingering scent of hot chocolate.
Outside, snow fell slowly, as if the whole world had decided to move carefully that night.
Eric sat at the kitchen table, his feet dangling above the floor, focused on a sheet of paper decorated with crooked reindeer and uneven stars.
His tongue peeked out slightly as he concentrated.
Jake watched from the doorway, a steaming mug in his hands. He smiled—but it was a tired smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Almost done, champ?” he asked gently.
Eric looked up.
“Shhh,” he whispered. “Santa needs neat letters.”
Jake chuckled softly and stayed quiet.
Eric gripped the red crayon and began reading aloud as he wrote.
“Dear Santa…”
Jake felt that familiar ache in his chest.
Eric wrote slowly, carefully.
1️⃣ An Oreo kitten.
2️⃣ That my dad Jake won’t be sad.
3️⃣ That Maverick comes over a lot.
He added a drawing: three stick figures—one tall, one medium, one small with a huge smile.
Beside them, a black-and-white kitten with exaggerated whiskers.
“Done,” Eric announced proudly.
“Can I see it?” Jake asked.
Eric shook his head fast.
“Nope. Santa secret.”
Later, after Eric was asleep, Jake returned to the living room. The letter was still there.
He opened it.
Read it once.
Then again.
When he reached the second wish, his breath caught.
That my dad Jake won’t be sad.
Jake sat down, the paper trembling in his hands. His voice broke in a silent sob.
“I’m trying,” he whispered.
“I think Santa can handle that.”
Jake looked up.
Maverick stood in the doorway, smiling softly.
Two nights later, a soft meow broke the silence.
“Mrrp.”
Eric woke up to find a tiny black-and-white kitten curled on his chest.
“Oreo,” Maverick said gently.
Eric laughed—pure, bright laughter.
Jake felt something inside him finally loosen.
Maybe Santa wasn’t real.
But that night, something just as magical was.