I thought my wife, Jenna, and I shared everything, including our deepest secrets. But when she excluded me from her birthday party, I realized I’d been left out of more than just one celebration. What hurt the most was discovering why.
It wasn’t just the party that stung. It was what it revealed about my wife and our marriage.
I’d spent a year saving for her dream gift, only to find out that I wasn’t enough for her. Looking back, the signs had always been there. I guess I just never wanted to see them.
A man looking straight ahead | Source: Midjourney
Jenna and I were introduced by our families eight years ago. They thought we’d be a great match, and they were right. At least in the beginning.
She was warm, outgoing, and had this infectious energy that made everyone gravitate toward her. I was quieter and more practical, but I found her enthusiasm refreshing. We went on a few dates, and soon enough, I was hooked.
Of course, she wasn’t perfect. No one is.
I noticed early on that she had a bit of a materialistic streak.
A woman sitting in her house | Source: Midjourney
She loved fancy dinners, designer handbags, and the kind of vacations that made Instagram feeds look like travel brochures.
At the time, I chalked it up to her appreciating the finer things in life. Besides, I wasn’t exactly living extravagantly, but I wasn’t struggling either.
I thought we could balance each other out.
We got married five years ago, and for a while, everything seemed great. I loved how Jenna lit up a room and could talk to anyone and make them feel like the most important person in the world.
A close-up shot of a woman | Source: Midjourney
I worked a steady job as a financial consultant, and while I wasn’t raking in millions, I took pride in providing a stable life for us.
But there were moments, small, nagging moments, that hinted things weren’t as perfect as they seemed.
I remember one time I gave her a custom photo album for our anniversary, filled with pictures of our favorite memories. She smiled and thanked me, but later, I overheard her on the phone with a friend, saying, “Yeah, it’s sweet, but I was kind of hoping for a spa weekend or something.”
A woman using her phone | Source: Midjourney
It hurt, but I convinced myself it didn’t mean anything. Jenna had always been expressive, and I figured she was just venting.
Still, the little incidents piled up.
She’d casually mention how her friend’s husband surprised her with diamond earrings “just because” or how another friend’s partner whisked her away for a luxury retreat.
“Can you believe how lucky they are?” she’d say, with a wistful look I tried not to take personally.
But deep down, I started to feel like I was falling short.
A man talking to his wife | Source: Midjourney
I didn’t have the kind of job that allowed for extravagant gifts or surprise getaways, but I made up for it with thoughtfulness. At least, I thought I did.
I’d spend hours planning little surprises for her, like cooking her favorite meals after a long day or leaving sweet notes in her work bag.
I hoped those gestures meant more than a price tag.
Then came the conversations that left me questioning myself.
A man standing in the dark | Source: Midjourney
Once, when her friends came over, I overheard them talking.
“So, what did Lucas spoil you with this time?” one of her friends asked.
I heard Jenna laugh sheepishly.
“Oh, you know Lucas,” she began. “He’s more about sentiment than splurging.”
Her tone wasn’t outright dismissive, but it wasn’t exactly proud either.
A woman sitting in the dark | Source: Midjourney
Looking back, I should’ve seen it coming. I should’ve realized that Jenna’s world was one where appearances mattered. A world where being “just enough” was never going to cut it.
But I loved her, and I believed that love was enough to bridge the gap between our differences.
I was wrong.
So wrong.
A man standing in his house | Source: Midjourney
A few weeks ago, Jenna surprised me with an announcement that caught me off guard.
“I’m not celebrating my birthday this year,” she said over dinner. “I’m getting older, and honestly, what’s there to celebrate?”
I paused mid-bite and stared at her. Jenna loved birthdays. She’d always meticulously plan a theme, coordinate outfits, and ensure the guest list was perfect. The idea of her skipping the occasion altogether felt off.
“Are you sure?” I asked, keeping my tone light. “You’ve always loved celebrating.”
A man talking to his wife | Source: Midjourney
She shrugged. “I just don’t feel like it this year. Maybe next time.”
Her response didn’t sit well with me, but I didn’t push. Everyone has their moments, and I figured turning 35 left her feeling reflective or even self-conscious.
Still, I wanted to do something special for her.
Jenna loved jewelry but rarely bought any for herself, always saying it was too indulgent. So, for the past year, I’d been quietly saving up for a pair of diamond earrings I knew she’d adore.
A pair of earrings | Source: Pexels
Honestly, saving up hadn’t been easy. I’d skipped lunches out, passed on new clothes, and even took on extra work during the holidays.
The earrings I’d bought were beautiful and I couldn’t wait to surprise her. I imagined giving them to her during a quiet dinner at home. I thought it would be perfect.
But everything changed a few days before her birthday.
I was at the grocery store picking up some last-minute essentials when I ran into Mark, one of Jenna’s coworkers.
Shopping carts at a supermarket | Source: Pexels
We exchanged pleasantries and talked about the usual stuff until he casually mentioned something that made my heart drop.
“Okay, see ya at Jenna’s birthday party on Friday!” he said with a grin.
“Party?” I asked. I had no idea what he was talking about.
“Yeah, her birthday party. You know about it, right?”
“Oh, yeah, the party!” I chuckled. “Same place as last time, right? I keep mixing things up.”
“No, it’s at that new restaurant,” Mark said. “Le Bijou, downtown. Friday at 7. All friends and family are coming!”
A man in a supermarket | Source: Pexels
I forced a laugh, playing it off. “Oh, right, of course. Just slipped my mind for a second. Been swamped with work lately.”
Mark nodded. “Well, it should be fun. Jenna always throws a great party.”
I managed a smile and a quick goodbye before turning the cart down the next aisle.
Le Bijou was a new upscale restaurant downtown. It required booking weeks in advance and a price tag to match.
What bothered me the most was that my wife hadn’t mentioned a word about that party.
A woman standing in her house | Source: Midjourney
For the next two days, I tried to rationalize what Mark had said. Maybe he was mistaken. Maybe it was a surprise party, and Jenna didn’t want me to find out.
But deep down, I knew the truth. She’d excluded me on purpose.
Why wouldn’t she want me there? I thought. Was she embarrassed? Angry? Or had I done something to make her feel like I didn’t belong by her side?
A man looking straight ahead | Source: Midjourney
The questions ate away at me, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask Jenna outright.
Instead, I decided to find out. I told myself I wasn’t going to cause a scene and that I just needed answers. I decided to go to the party to see why she didn’t want me there.
On the day of her birthday, she seemed quite calm.
“I’m just going out with some friends for dinner tonight,” she said over breakfast, sipping her coffee. “Nothing fancy, just a small gathering.”
A woman smiling at the breakfast table | Source: Midjourney
“Oh, really? I thought we’d have dinner at home together,” I said. “I was planning to bake your favorite cookies.”
“That’s so sweet of you, Lucas,” she smiled. “It’s just that Alex suggested we should go out for dinner, and I didn’t want to say no. We’ll have dinner together tomorrow, okay? I promise.”
“Alright,” I said, trying to hide the disappointment.
She didn’t mention Le Bijou or anything remotely like the extravagant affair Mark had described. A quiet dinner with friends was nothing to raise suspicion over. At least not until I arrived at the restaurant.
A table in a restaurant | Source: Pexels
When I walked into Le Bijou, it was as if I’d stepped into a different world. The room glittered with wealth. Sparkling gowns, tailored suits, and the unmistakable hum of privilege.
In the center of it all was Jenna. Her smile was as dazzling as the chandelier above her, but it faded the moment she saw me.
I could see panic written all over her face as she excused herself and walked toward me.
“What are you doing here?” she asked in a low, hurried whisper.
A woman talking to her husband | Source: Midjourney
“I came to celebrate your birthday,” I replied. “But it looks like you’re having a ball with your friends. You said you didn’t want to celebrate your birthday this year, but…”
Her face flushed as she looked around. “Lucas, it’s not like that. This is just a casual dinner. I—”
“Mark called it a birthday party when I met him a few days ago,” I said. “This doesn’t look like a casual dinner.”
Her shoulders sagged slightly, and she glanced back at the table where her friends were watching us with open curiosity.
A woman looking away while talking to her husband | Source: Midjourney
“Look,” she said, lowering her voice even further. “I excluded you from the party because… well, it’s complicated.”
“Complicated how?”
“It’s just that all my friends’ husbands always get them these extravagant gifts, and you… well, you don’t. I didn’t want them to compare. I didn’t want them to know that I never get any expensive gifts.”
I stared at her with wide eyes.
“So, you’re embarrassed of me?” I asked. “You’re embarrassed your husband doesn’t earn enough to spoil you with presents?”
Her silence was answer enough.
Taking a deep breath, I pulled the small box from my pocket and handed it to her.
“Open it,” I said.
A woman holding a gift box | Source: Pexels
Her eyes widened slightly as she unwrapped it, revealing the diamond earrings inside. For a moment, I saw the Jenna I fell in love with. The one who lit up over little surprises and thoughtful gestures.
“Oh my God, Lucas,” she gasped, holding the earrings up for her friends to admire. “These are beautiful!”
She called her friends over, basking in their admiration as if the entire evening had suddenly transformed into a celebration of us.
“Lucas, you have to stay,” she said, grabbing my hand. “Come on, have a drink, let me get you some food.”
A woman looking back | Source: Midjourney
But I couldn’t. Something inside me had cracked, and no amount of praise or attention from her friends could fix it.
“I can’t stay,” I said. “The second part of your gift is waiting for you at home.”
Her eyes lit up with excitement. “What is it? Tell me!”
“You’ll see,” I said, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek before walking away. I didn’t look back.
When Jenna returned home later that night, she found the house dark and eerily quiet.
A woman in a hallway | Source: Midjourney
The only light came from the kitchen, where a single envelope sat on the table. I’d left a letter for her.
Dear Jenna,
I spent a year saving for those earrings because I wanted you to feel loved, cherished, and appreciated. You always said you loved jewelry but never treated yourself, so I wanted to give you something special. Something to show you how much you mean to me.
A woman reading a letter | Source: Midjourney
But tonight, I realized that no matter how much I give, it will never be enough. Hearing you say you were embarrassed of me, of us, broke something inside me. I’ve always believed love was about more than material things, but you’ve made it clear that appearances and comparisons matter more.
So, here’s the second part of your gift: FREEDOM. For both of us.
A close-up shot of a handwritten note | Source: Pexels
I’m filing for divorce. I deserve someone who values me for who I am, not for what I can buy. And you deserve someone who can give you the lifestyle you clearly want.
Please don’t contact me. This is goodbye.
—Lucas
Over the next few days, Jenna called me repeatedly, leaving tearful messages begging for forgiveness. She said she’d made a mistake, that she didn’t mean what she said, and that she wanted to fix things.
But I was done. I sent her one final text.
A man using his phone | Source: Pexels
Don’t contact me again. It’s over.
Then I blocked her number and moved forward with the divorce.
Now, months later, I feel lighter, as if a weight I didn’t even know I was carrying has been lifted. Losing Jenna was painful, but knowing I’ll never have to endure her constant comparisons or unspoken disappointment again?
That’s a relief I can’t put into words.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
I Hired a Man to Wish My Son a Merry Christmas as Santa Claus and I Noticed He Had the Same Birthmark as My Son
I hired the same Santa actor to come to our house for three years straight. But it was only last Christmas Eve that I stumbled upon him in the bathroom and discovered why he was so dedicated to us… actually, to my son.
Real life is often stranger than fiction. Hello there! My name is Elara, and I was 34 when this happened last year. First, some quick background: I adopted my son, Dylan, when he was six months old. That was already eight years ago.
A baby | Source: Pexels
The adoption agency found him on their doorstep (yeah, like a movie, I know) with just a note saying his name was Martin.
He was still a baby, so I decided to rename him Dylan, and it’s been just us against the world ever since. It’s hard raising a child on my own, but it’s been the most rewarding time in my life.
Every holiday became more special since I adopted him, and my favorite was Christmas. Dylan was a fuzzy baby, and I hate crowds, so instead of going to the mall, I started searching for a Santa I could hire for a photo.
A woman using a laptop | Source: Pexels
I discovered a photography studio that had its own actor, and I took my son there. However, as Dylan grew up, I thought about mixing things up.
Over three years ago, as I was still trying to come up with ideas for better Christmas traditions, I found a flyer stuck on my doorstep. It said: “Professional actor available to visit your home dressed as Santa Claus to surprise your child.”
There was a name and a phone number, and honestly? It felt heaven-sent. So, I called, and soon, Harold entered our lives.
A flyer | Source: Midjourney
He showed up that first Christmas in a Santa suit that was a little too big for him. But it was exactly what I had in mind. Dylan was five, and he totally thought it was the real Santa.
He dragged Santa around our tiny living room and showed him every single ornament on our small, weirdly decorated tree. Meanwhile, I watched from the old, thrifted couch.
But looking back, I should’ve noticed the red flags. That day, Harold stayed for THREE HOURS. He built block towers with Dylan, read stories, and even helped bake cookies.
Christmas cookies | Source: Pexels
I tried to pay him extra (which I honestly couldn’t really afford), but he straight up refused and asked me to please call him next Christmas.
A year later, I did just that, and Harold was surprisingly still in business. Most kids get a rushed mall Santa photo, right? Not Dylan.
He got personal playtime with Santa in our living room. But, I kept thinking, “Doesn’t this guy have other houses to visit?”
Santa sitting in a living room, playing with a boy | Source: Midjourney
One time I asked him about it. “You really don’t have to stay this long. Other families must be waiting,” I hinted, trying to be subtle about it.
He just smiled and said, “Oh no, Christmas Eve is reserved just for special boys like Dylan.” Again, looking back now… yeah. Something was up.
Dylan also became used to his Santa privilege and went ALL IN on these visits. He would deep clean his room (I mean, as best as a kid could) and do extra chores. As he told me, “Santa would want to see I’m being good.”
A boy helping with laundry | Source: Pexels
Fast-forward to this past Christmas. Dylan was eight and still believed in Santa, but he was slowly getting to that age where kids started asking questions.
As always, our living room was in full Christmas mode with lights everywhere, dollar store stockings by our fake fireplace (hey, we work with what we got), and our trusty artificial tree covered in eight years of random ornaments.
Dylan was excitedly talking about his science project to Harold when he made a wrong move, and suddenly, hot cocoa was covering Santa’s whole suit.
Hot chocolate in a cup | Source: Pexels
“Oh NO!” my kid bellowed like his world was ending, but Harold played it cool.
“Don’t worry, my friend. Even Santa has accidents sometimes,” he laughed, then looked at me. “Mind if I use your bathroom to clean up?”
I nodded and rushed to grab him a towel from the closet, and when I went to hand it to him… oh, boy. He had taken off the top of his costume and…no! This is not one of those stories.
Towel closet | Source: Pexels
What struck me speechless was a weird crescent-shaped birthmark on Harold’s back. It was identical to Dylan’s. What were the odds?
But wait, it gets stranger. On the bathroom counter, I saw keys to a Mercedes. Since when does a part-time Santa actor (who works for a less-than-averaged income family) drive a car like that? Also, it wasn’t outside. Did he park it far away?
Anyway, I tried to play it cool and handed over the towel without looking. But my mind was RACING.
Handing over a towel | Source: Pexels
Back in the living room, Dylan was setting up some board game Santa had said he could open early. I sat there trying to make everything make sense. The birthmark, the car, the way he always spent so much time with us…
But what happened next was the real kicker.
Harold came out of the bathroom and said, “So, Martin, ready to play again?”
A man dressed as Santa coming out of the bathroom | Source: Midjourney
MARTIN! That was the name written on the note left with Dylan when he was found on the doorstep of an orphanage eight years ago!
I lost it. Jumped up and yelled, “WHO ARE YOU AND WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?!”
Poor Dylan froze, and Harold’s mouth dropped wide.
“Mommy?” Dylan’s voice was tiny. “Why are you yelling at Santa?”
A boy looking confused with a Christmas present | Source: Pexels
I had to take a step back and inhale deeply. Also, I sent Dylan upstairs for a second. Then, I turned my eyes to “Santa.”
“The birthmark. Those keys. And you called him Martin. Start talking. Now,” I demanded, running my hands through my hair.
To my shock, Harold laughed. But it wasn’t humorously. It was like releasing a huge worry. He took off his fake beard and I saw his square jaw for the first time.
A handsome man | Source: Pexels
He looked handsome. Young. Around 40 years old, I’d say. Somehow, he also looked…rich. But most of all, he looked like my son.
Harold saw my face, and he nodded. “That’s correct. I’m his father,” he said breathlessly, and his shoulders slumped.
The background: Years ago, he was young and broke when Dylan was born. His mother left them, and Harold had no way to support his kid or any family to help out.
A man with a baby | Source: Pexels
The only solution was to give his child (the one he had named Martin) up for adoption and hope someone else could give him a good life. But he kept tabs on him… on me.
And years ago, he made up the whole Santa thing just to spend time with Dylan once a year.
He’d gotten his life together by then after starting some successful business but didn’t want to mess up Dylan’s happy life with me.
A hansome man in a suit | Source: Pexels
I won’t lie, I was mad. But also… I got it? Like, he found this weird way to be there for his son without taking him from me.
After that conversation, I asked him for some time. Harold nodded, went back to being Santa, said goodbye to Dylan, and left. But I had his contact information, and we talked regularly.
A few days later, I decided my son needed to know. I sat him down. He knew he was adopted, but this was different. At first, he was skeptical. “Mom, Santa can’t be my dad,” he rolled his eyes at me.
A boy | Source: Pexels
“No, silly,” I said and sighed. “You should know by now that Santa is a real man under that suit. The one who visits us every year is called Harold.”
And then, I went into detail with all I knew. Dylan took a while to digest the information, and a day later, he told me he wanted to talk to Harold. I knew that would be his response because my kid loved him already, even if at first he thought he was Santa.
The next weekend, I invited Harold to our house for dinner, and he came over without his costume for the first time. It was still a little strange, but we got used to it.
People having dinner | Source: Pexels
After a few hours, Dylan was his usual self, chatty and excited. He wanted to show off to his biological father. By the end of the night, we agreed to set up visits every weekend.
Every weekend turned into every other night… And every other night turned into every day. To my even bigger surprise, Harold took an interest in me too.
As Santa, he had asked about me, but I always thought that was just out of politeness. Not anymore, though. It took us three months after the big revelation to confess our feelings for each other.
A man kissing a woman’s hand | Source: Pexels
A few more months later (just last week, I mean!) he proposed to me. In his Santa suit. It was more romantic than it sounds, and I just needed to share this story.
Life is weird sometimes. My kid got the dad he never thought he’d get, I found love, and it all started because I hired a Santa!
Our family of two was doing fine, even if money was never plentiful. But along with love, Harold gave us the world with the success he built after struggling for years. It was my dream come true.
Also, we’re getting married this Christmas!!
A boy lookihng up at a groom and bride | Source: Midjourney
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
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