Christmas morning came to a sudden, terrible stop the moment my five-year-old son ripped open a present and screamed at the top of his lungs, “YES! The other mom kept her promise!”
The room went dead silent.
My smile froze on my face. My coffee cup shook slightly in my hand. And my husband—my calm, steady husband—went completely pale. He didn’t laugh. He didn’t ask Simon what he meant. He didn’t even move.
He knew exactly who my son was talking about.
And the longer Mike stood there, silent and terrified, the more I understood this was not a cute misunderstanding. This was something dark. Something hidden.
My husband and I had been together for six years. We had one child together—Simon, five years old, bright-eyed, curious, and trusting. Our life wasn’t perfect, but it felt safe. Predictable. Comfortable.
Or at least, I thought it was.
Looking back, there were cracks. Small ones.
The kind you explain away because you don’t want to see the bigger picture. There were days when Mike seemed distracted, distant, like his mind was somewhere else even when his body was at home. I told myself it was work stress. I told myself every marriage goes through phases.
I was wrong.
I should have paid more attention after the babysitter incident earlier that year.
We’d been drifting, so we made a plan to fix it. Weekly date nights. Real effort. A colleague of Mike’s recommended a babysitter—a college student named Megan. She was young, cheerful, and Simon liked her right away. At first, everything seemed perfect. We went out. We laughed again. We felt close.
Then one evening, Mike sat me down and said, “We need to fire her.”
I remember blinking at him in surprise. “Why?”
He looked uncomfortable. “I think she has a crush on me. Whenever we’re alone in a room together, she says things…”
“What things?” I asked.
He shrugged. “She compliments my suit. Says she likes the way my cologne smells. Nothing extreme, but it feels… weird.”
So we let her go.
At the time, I actually felt reassured. He came to me. He told me. It felt like proof we were still a team. I ignored the tiny voice in my head whispering that he hadn’t told me everything.
I told myself I was being jealous. Paranoid.
I know now I was being foolish.
I thought the hard part was behind us. I relaxed. I stopped watching closely. I believed routine meant safety.
Christmas morning proved how wrong I was.
The morning started like every other Christmas—wrapping paper everywhere, the smell of coffee filling the air, Simon bouncing around the living room like he’d swallowed pure joy. Every gift under the tree was something Mike and I had planned together.
Or so I thought.
Mike handed Simon a medium-sized box and said, “This one’s from Santa.”
I smiled. We always saved one special gift for last. Simon tore into the paper—and then froze.
For one long second, he didn’t move.
Then his face lit up like fireworks.
Inside was an expensive collector’s model car. The exact one Simon had begged for all year. The one Mike and I had agreed was way too much money for a five-year-old.
Simon hugged it to his chest and shouted, “YES! The other mom kept her promise! I knew it!”
My heart dropped straight to the floor.
“The… other mom?” I repeated softly.
Simon nodded, still smiling. “Yeah! She said if I was really good, she’d make sure I got it for Christmas.”
I slowly turned toward Mike.
He couldn’t look at me.
“Who is the other mom?” I asked.
Simon looked between us, suddenly unsure. “Dad knows her. She comes sometimes. She told me not to worry.”
Not to worry.
Those words echoed in my head like poison.
“She said we’re going on a trip,” Simon added. “Me, her, and Daddy. You’ll have to work, Mommy. That’s what she said.”
That’s when Mike finally spoke. His voice was barely a whisper.
“Let’s talk in the kitchen.”
The moment the door closed, I turned on him.
“Start talking. Who is this ‘other mom,’ and why is she giving our son expensive gifts?”
He swallowed hard. “It’s… Megan.”
“The babysitter?” I stared at him. “The one we fired?”
“Yes—but it’s not what you think!”
“So you’re not having an affair?” I snapped. “Because this sounds exactly like one.”
“I swear it’s not!” he said, rubbing his hands together nervously. “I’ve been an idiot. After we fired her, she messaged me. Apologized. Said she didn’t mean anything by it. Said she missed Simon.”
“And you believed her.”
“I thought I misunderstood her intentions,” he admitted. “She asked if she could see Simon once. Just to say hi. I didn’t tell you because I thought you’d think I was stupid.”
“And then?” I demanded.
He hesitated. That pause said everything.
“She kept coming,” he confessed. “When you were at work. Then one day I heard her telling Simon to call her his ‘other mom.’ Telling him to keep it a secret. That’s when I told her to stop.”
“And the gift?” I asked.
His face went white. “I didn’t put it under the tree.”
The realization hit me like ice water.
She had been in our house.
Simon walked in then, his little face serious. “Mom… is the other mom bad?”
I knelt down and hugged him. “She’s confused, sweetheart.”
Then he said something that made my blood run cold.
“She came to see me at school. She said she needed a key to our house so she could surprise us for Christmas dinner.”
That’s how she got in.
I told Simon to go open another gift and turned back to Mike.
“Screenshot everything. Then call the police. I’m going to her apartment.”
When I knocked on Megan’s door, I finally understood her plan.
She was wearing an apron. The counter behind her was covered in foil-wrapped dishes.
“I’ve been cooking Christmas dinner for my boys,” she said coldly. “I just needed you out of the way.”
Fear rushed through me just as the police arrived.
Megan was arrested. She kept screaming that she’d done nothing wrong. That Simon wanted her as his other mom. That Mike loved her.
She didn’t get prison—but she did get probation, mandatory psychiatric treatment, and a restraining order that still protects my family today.
Christmas will never feel the same again.
But my son is safe.
And now, the truth is finally out.