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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?”

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.”

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.

“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.

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.

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?”

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?”

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.

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.

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.

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.

“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.”

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.

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 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!!

Here’sÂanother story: Martha’s joy at her son’s wedding turns to shock when she notices a familiar birthmark on the bride. The discovery unveils a deep secret from Martha’s past and forces her to make a heart-wrenching decision.

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.