Nicholas is our Christmas miracle. I had so much trouble carrying him, the doctors weren’t sure he was going to make it because he was born four months premature. Nicholas proved them wrong and just grew stronger and stronger every day. Eb likes to say he inherited his mother’s determination. I know the truth, however. Nicholas is stubborn, just like his father.
Eb looks over at me and even through the fake white beard, I know he’s smiling. He smiles all the time, but he never smiles more than at Christmas.
He says this is his favorite time of year now, because every year I do something to make his life better at Christmas. Last year it was the birth of our son.
I wonder what he will think of this year’s Christmas surprise?
My hand goes to my stomach and I rub it gently. My wedding ring catches the light and sparkles and I can’t help but smile.
I’m pregnant.
The doctors told me the chances were slim that would ever happen, because I had to take fertility medication just to conceive Nicholas.
I smile, because I know something the doctors don’t know.
Christmas is a time for miracles and that’s just what our child is.
A Christmas miracle, just like that night two years ago when I took a chance and married the love of my life after a whirlwind courtship. Or, just like my son defying all odds and coming into this world, growing healthy and strong last year.
Which fits really, because this is the most wonderful time of the year—especially since Eb Mason walked into my life.
I walk over to my family and listen as my husband says the last few lines of the story and I know in that moment, I have everything I could ever want.
“Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night,” Eb says, closing the book and I lean down to hug him and Nicolas. Eb kisses my cheek. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” he whispers, where only I can hear him.
“Merry Christmas Santa,” I whisper back. “Merry Christmas.”