When Lexie’s mom surprises her with an expensive and meaningful graduation present, she is truly over the moon. Like any teenager, she takes to social media to talk about her gift and how grateful she is. But soon, Lexie’s absent father tries to claim that he bought her the elaborate gift. Soon, his lie begins to unravel punlicly…
My father was a ghost long before I even understood what it meant. He walked out on us when I was five, and I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve heard from him since. No birthdays, no calls, and not a dime of child support.
Nice, right?
A smiling little girl | Source: Midjourney
But my mom? She’s been my everything. And it’s been the two of us against the world, and somehow, she has always made it work. And honestly, this woman has sacrificed so much to give me a shot at everything I’ve ever wanted to pursue. Out of all the things that I’ve wanted to try my hand at, music was my absolute love.
Music had always been my escape. Especially the piano. My mom had enrolled me in lessons when I was little, and from then on, I was just hooked. My dream was to compose my own music, but for me to do that I needed a professional-grade digital piano.
A little girl playing the piano | Source: Midjourney
The problem?
Those things are expensive. Like proper, expensive.
And while mom and I weren’t living in poverty, we weren’t exactly rolling in cash, either. Being a single mom and a nurse, my mother went out of her way to ensure that I could keep playing. Recently she had started working extra shifts wherever possible, cutting corners where she could, just so that I could keep playing.
More than that, even though she came home exhausted, she never complained about the long hours or the money. My mom simply believed in me.
A smiling nurse | Source: Midjourney
“Lexie,” she would say. “You’re just seventeen. And to have found something that you’re so passionate about at your age is amazing. Not to mention that you have real talent here, it’s not just a whim. You have a dream and you can get to it. I’ll do everything I can to help you achieve it.”
Fast forward to graduation.
A smiling teenage girl | Source: Midjourney
I wasn’t expecting anything other than a cake, which was our tradition at the end of every school year. I knew how hard my mom worked just to keep everything going, and there was no way I’d want anything else from her.
“I’m serious, Mom,” I said one night over dinner. “I don’t want anything for graduation. I promise you, I understand the situation and I’m more than grateful for your support.”
“Oh, darling,” she said, giving me a spoonful of mashed potatoes. “I’m your mother, it’s my job.”
A bowl of mashed potatoes | Source: Midjourney
“I know, but I want you to know that I don’t expect anything,” I said.
We went to my graduation ceremony, and my mother bawled her eyes out when it was my turn to walk the stage.
“My darling girl,” my mother said after the ceremony as she enveloped me in a tight hug. “I am so proud of you!”
A teenager in her graduation gown and flowers | Source: Midjourney
The real surprise came when I walked into our home that afternoon. There it was, my dream piano.
A high-end digital piano, complete with every feature that I needed to start composing. I couldn’t believe it. I actually cried.
It wasn’t about the piano itself, it was about how much my mother sacrificed for my dreams.
Naturally, I posted about it on social media because I was over the moon. I tagged my mom because she was the one who dreamed and inspired me. I wrote a long heartfelt caption about how she was truly the best mom in the world.
A keyboard with a pink bow | Source: Midjourney
My post got tons of likes and comments, and honestly, I was just happy to share this moment with my mother. She deserved all the credit.
“Mom, I don’t know what to say,” I told her that evening as we sat outside on the porch together.
“Baby girl, I told you. I’m your mother, this is my job,” she said.
A mother and daughter duo sitting on a porch | Source: Midjourney
Then, a few days later, something weird happened.
I got a text from one of my dad’s old friends. He was someone I hadn’t heard from in years. He congratulated me on graduating and then casually mentioned how generous my dad was for buying me such an amazing gift.
My stomach dropped immediately.
“What?” I muttered.
A teenager holding her phone | Source: Midjourney
At first, I thought that he must have been confused. But then I saw the post that made it all make sense.
My dad, the same man who hadn’t shown up for my graduation or acknowledged my existence in years, had re-posted my story on socials.
Onto his own page!
And of course, he captioned it like it was his moment. Like he had bought me the piano and had been the supportive dad all along.
A phone opened to social media | Source: Midjourney
So proud of little girl! I’ve always believed in your dreams. This is just the beginning!
I was shocked. The actual nerve of this man was insane.
I just stared at the screen in shock. This was a guy who hadn’t paid a cent in child support, who hadn’t called to check in. Even when I was twelve and I fell off a tree and had broken my arm? My mother had told him, but he didn’t bother to see me at the hospital or after.
“I just want him to sign my cast,” I remember telling my mother.
“I know, Lex,” my mother said, rubbing my arm. “But he doesn’t seem to care.”
A little girl with her arm in a cast | Source: Midjourney
So this? This was absurd.
“This man needs to pay child support,” I muttered.
But I didn’t know how to go about it. I didn’t want to embarrass him on socials because I couldn’t risk rocking the boat before those payments were settled.
Still, I was fuming inside, waiting for the day his lies would catch up to him.
A shocked girl | Source: Midjourney
Turns out, karma was already in motion.
About two weeks later, my mom and I went to a community event. It was one of those things where everyone in town shows up because it was a charity event to raise funds for the community theater.
At one point, we were chatting with a group of people, when a random guy came forward to talk to us. He started talking to my mom like they were old friends, and then he turned to me.
A crowd of people | Source: Midjourney
“Lexie!” he said excitedly. “I’m Ralph, I work with your dad! That’s how I recognized you, he’s been posting photos of you recently. He’s very proud. And that piano he got you for graduation? Wow! That was a real show of support, huh? You’re a lucky young lady.”
I felt my mom tense next to me. She didn’t even blink.
“Oh, you must be terribly mistaken, Ralph. My ex-husband hasn’t paid child support in years. He had nothing to do with the piano or any part of his daughter’s life, really.”
A smiling man | Source: Midjourney
“Yeah, we’re looking at outstanding child support for about what, Mom? Thirteen years now?” I said.
The man’s face went from smug to confused.
“I’m sorry… what?” he said.
My mom didn’t let up though.
“The piano was a gift from me. I’ve been working extra hours to make sure that my daughter has everything she needs for her music career. Her father didn’t contribute at all.”
A frowning woman | Source: Midjourney
Poor Ralph just stood there, speechless.
It turns out that this man wasn’t just my dad’s coworker. He was my dad’s boss.
My dad had been spinning this tale for months, talking about how he was this amazing, supportive father who did everything for his daughter.
Well, not anymore.
A smiling man sitting in his office | Source: Midjourney
The look on Ralph’s face told me everything that I needed to know: my father was done for. His lies had caught up with him.
Not long after, he was let go because Ralph said that he couldn’t trust him at all. He was also hit with years’ worth of payments he’d been dodging, and there was no escaping it.
The courts were involved now, and he had no choice but to pay up.
A close up of an angry man | Source: Midjourney
As for me?
I’ve been spending every spare minute on that piano, composing music that I know will make my mom proud. After all, she’s the one who’s always been there, the one who truly believed in me from day one. And soon, I’ll be going off to college to study music, too.
And my dad?
Well, he learned that pretending to be a parent is a lot harder than actually being one.
A teenager playing on a keyboard | Source: Midjourney
What would you have done?
If you enjoyed this story, here’s another one for you |
My Father Skipped My Graduation to Take His Stepson to the Zoo – I Taught Him a Good Lesson
When Michael’s father misses his graduation to take his stepson, Tommy, to the zoo, Michael wants to teach him a lesson. After years of being sidelined, Michael finally retaliates. He plans a graduation dinner with the intention to expose his father, but then, things take a turn…
As I watched my classmates hug their families on graduation day, the absence of my father, Henry, cast a long shadow on what should have been one of the happiest days of my life.
A graduation cap and degree | Source: Pexels
Ever since my parents’ divorce when I was ten, Dad had built a new life with Sandra and her young son, Tommy.
It was good—I wanted my father to be happy. He deserved it. Because as much as he and Mom tried, they just weren’t compatible anymore. I needed them to be apart so that they could co-exist for me.
A divorce agreement | Source: Pexels
But then, when Dad and Sandra got together, he entered a new chapter—one that seemed to include everyone but me.
Initially, things weren’t so bad, but as my father grew closer to Tommy, he began to play a bigger role in his life. He consistently missed the milestones that marked my childhood journey—my science fair victories, my soccer finals, even several birthdays.
A father carrying his son | Source: Pexels
Each absence was attributed to something involving Tommy—a school play, a baseball game, or just a day out—leaving me to celebrate or commiserate without him.
I met with my father a week before the graduation—we were having lunch at a diner, something that he still tried to keep going, even when his life got busy.
A tray of burger and fries | Source: Pexels
“I’ll be at your graduation, Michael,” my father said. “I’ll wear a suit and tie and be there, in the front row with your mom. This is a big moment in your life and I love you. Of course, I’ll be there.”
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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