My throat closes up.
"I don't..." I say, looking up at Nick, who's moved closer. "I don't know if I should run screaming or demand an explanation for why this particular gift is twenty years late."
A smile tugs at his mouth, sad and soft. "There were... complications. Magic doesn't always work the way it should when it comes to specific requests. By the time the logistics were sorted, you'd stopped believing."
"I..." I touch the tiny shutters on the dollhouse windows, perfect and detailed and exactly like I remembered wanting. "This is real. This is actually real."
"Yes."
The snow’s stopped, but the flakes that landed haven’t melted. My apartment looks like a snow globe. Beautiful, surreal, and flat-out impossible.
"Can you stand?" Nick asks. "There's more I can show you, if you're willing."
I should say no. I should probably be processing the fact that Santa Claus is apparently real, standing in my living room, and is also the father of my unborn child. But the practical part of my brain has checked out, leaving only the bit that’s desperate for answers.
"I think so."
He helps me up, and I’m grateful, even if I tell myself I’d be fine solo. Who am I kidding? The baby’s doing somersaults, and my sense of balance left the building about the same time the Christmas tree showed up.
Nick guides me to the mirror hanging by my bedroom door. It's nothing special, just a basic full-length mirror I got at a discount store. But when he places his hand on the frame and says something I can't quite hear, the glass ripples like water.
The reflection disappears, replaced by something else entirely.
A village sprawls out in front of me, like something out of a Christmas card. The aurora shimmies overhead, painting everything in green, purple, and blue. An impossible town square is bustling with activity, and I spot people. No, not people. Elves. Actual elves. How I instinctively know that is beyond me because they don't look like Will Ferrell or any elf I've seen on a Christmas card. They look more like ethereal beings, beautiful and impossible. The baby inside me kicks, and I understand exactly why I know what these beings are.
The scene is beautiful. The kind of stunning that makes my chest tight and my eyes sting. Like a dream, only sharper. More real than any dream has a right to be.
"That's home," Nick says quietly. "The North Pole."
The world tilts. Vertigo shoves logic out of the way while I try to process wonder and disbelief.
I grab for the mirror frame, but my legs have decided they're done cooperating. Nick catches me before I can fall, scooping me up like I weigh nothing despite the eight months of baby weight I've been hauling around.
"Easy. I've got you." He carries me back to the couch, setting me down with care that makes my eyes sting again.
The mirror’s back to normal. Just my reflection. Pale, wide-eyed, and looking about as overwhelmed as I feel.
Nick presses the water glass into my hand. "Drink."
I do, because arguing is way too much work right now. The water helps, cool and grounding against the mess in my head.
"Breathe," he coaches, his hand moving in slow circles on my back. "In through your nose, out through your mouth. Just like that. You're doing great."
It’s the same trick Ella’s used on me through every panic attack for months. But there’s something different about Nick doing it. Something that actually makes my breathing even out, loosens the tight band around my chest.
Like maybe I’ve been waiting for him to be the one all along.
The baby settles as my breathing slows, her wild movements calming to gentle presses against my ribs.
"Better?" Nick asks.
I nod, not trusting my voice yet.
He stays close, hand steady on my back, solid, warm, real. The snow in my living room catches the light, the Christmas tree glows in the corner, and I’m smack in the middle of an impossibility I can’t ignore anymore.
"Is this why all the weirdos have been showing up?" My voice comes out rough. "The ones Ella’s been intercepting? The ones who leave notes?"
"Yes." The word is heavy with regret.
